My window is my looking glass
and as I watched a butterfly,
I recalled a “Little Rhonda“ poem.
“I wish I were a butterfly.
First fly low.
Then fly high.”
Gathering nectar
from each flower
to take across the sky.
Dancing on the wind
with each wing beat
like a bird, but without song.
Silently displaying
the beauty of the Creator,
voicelessly beckoning to be seen.
In quiet rhythms of
majesty and grace,
gliding from place to place.
Butterfly and I, each blessed
with specific senses,
one cannot hear, the other cannot fly.
Although perhaps, I am a bit like a butterfly;
I just flit from place to place
and person to person.
Gathering the nectar of sweet moments
and passing on mysteries of life.
The mute butterfly has put words to my purpose…
I am pollinating people with His promise.
I do wish I had wings though.
I’d like to fly high to see the sky.
I’ve watched this butterfly travel,
landing upon the center of each bloom
and feeding on the nectar.
Suddenly, another one appeared and
together they flew out of sight.
Then I heard children laughing…
Perhaps,
metamorphosis continues and
they have become human beings.
~ Rhonda Logan Bailey, poet and photographer
9.25.25
