Butterflies

Have I ever told you? No, I don't think I have. I used to have an extensive butterfly collection and as you know, I literally still do). I used to collect and surround myself with an array of beauteous creatures. Some I held onto, others I let go, depending upon which other's magnificence had caught my eye for the moment.

One day, not too long ago, another fluttered my way. I marveled in its splendor. It's delicate wings and sharp and robust hues. It was truly the more of the magnificent I had encountered in a long while. Surely, Orlando and Boston had butterflies, but none of such intrigue. I have seen others flutter by, endeavoring to entice with their lush colors and whimsical daces from petal to petal, but none had even begun to intrigue me so, as this one.

I decided to capture this butterfly, against all laws of nature and wild. I wanted its beauty for only mine eyes and its dance to amuse only my heart. Did you know that smiles are contagious when butterflies are around? I schemed and devised a plan of attack, and how exuberant I was when finally the gorgeous little creature was in my grasp. And how rightfully so, it enticed and lured me so, as if actually wanting to be scooped up. In this particular instance, I plucked it from a family of Shasta daisies, growing freely on the upside of a small hill… there are plenty of hills in the west, not like Florida in the slightest.

Childhood lessons should have warned me. As I reminisce, I do recall the fireflies I used to catch, and how they seemed to thrive inside that glass jar. But, maybe that was my naiveté, mistaking joy for anxiety. All creatures flutter about in captivity you know. I poked more holes in the aluminum lid. I even tried to assimilate its natural habitat… flowers, blades of grass, bugs… you name it. However, it's now beginning to flutter less and less, this butterfly I've made my own. Its instinctive spirit has subsided, it's once magnificent wings have begun to wilt, and the robust hues once sprinkled about, are now only a smear on the glass. How sad it looks, and how sad it makes me to endure this.

The most heart-wrenching, yet most unselfish act is liberation of another. After much pondering, I have decided to set my butterfly free. Nothing is gained by captivity; all is gained by freedom. Now I will only marvel at its beauty from afar. I will smile upon its whimsical fluttering here and there, from petal to petal, once again. I know that its delightful hues will reappear; its strength will be renewed. And as it returns to its natural habitat, unharmed, but wiser for the wear, I too will be just that… all the more wise. Butterflies don't belong in glass jars with aluminum lids, they need sun and fresh air… and as it flutters off, I can only wonder, will I ever get the chance to appreciate it again?