The Return
A rather ordinary butterfly, mostly black with a couple of pale blue spots, lands opposite me on the table in a park where I sit reading. He, she, it—how can you tell—just rests there looking at me. The strange thing is, I know this butterfly, for over the course of three days last summer, at the same table, it came to keep me company. By the third day, I had a weird feeling that this insect knew me and, perhaps, intended to communicate something. I addressed a couple of questions his, her, its way but . . . nothing, at least as far as I could tell. Then, it disappeared. I thought it must have died, or been eaten by a bird. How long do butterflies live anyway? But that’s the question, because the same butterfly is back. I’m sure of it. I am not dreaming, and I sure as hell am not Chaung Tzu. For just a moment last year I wondered whether I was being visited by the spirit of someone I knew. But now . . . ? Suddenly the butterfly wiggles its antennae and flies away. I can’t help feeling I’m going somewhere.
lost in thought
a dandelion seed
in the wind
--Robert Witmer
Tokyo, Japan
drifting sands, Issue 29
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