Butterflies in The Park
Standing side by side, my white t-shirt sleeve against your bare shoulder, our reflections bounce off the storefront window. I see beauty, perfection, elegance, new beginnings, growth, change and maturity. Through the window is the summer dress you have been looking for. Like sandals in a Fortune 500 boardroom, the butterfly dress would be out of place in your monochromatic wardrobe. But it suits you. As I stared, a smile, like a child excitedly crawling across a play mat towards their mother, crept across my face as I recalled the creatures I spotted in the park.
I saw butterflies in the park. I wondered where the caterpillars had been.
Distracted by the sound in my headphones, the blistering sun rays and the sight of the well-trimmed blades of grass were the only environmental stimuli I was taking in. I walked along the sandy path towards and then up the gentle slope leading to the usual entrance. As I approached, like squash balls bouncing off the front wall, a couple trailed by a set of friends walked towards and then away from the usual entrance. To my annoyance, the usual entrance was locked.
I returned down the gentle slope and proceeded around the park’s perimeter. Eventually, I reached the second entrance, ascended the stone stairs, turned left, and proceeded underneath the arch formed by overhanging branches. I continued past the gardener’s house in front of which children were chasing each other between trees to reach my favourite spot, a sloped patch of green paradise dotted with dark brown benches overlooking a tranquil lake with a low-density duck population. A mixture of national luminaries, wealthy families, and local cultural icons were honoured with gold plaques at the top of the backrest of each bench.
I picked a well-shaded bench.
First spotted in the distance, now evident in my near vicinity were butterflies. Their large white wings flanked their slender thoraxes which rested on their stick-like legs. Graceful, subtle, elegant, and majestic. The end of a cycle. The conclusion of a series of changes. The cliched representation of metamorphosis.
If all these butterflies were here, where had the caterpillars been? Was it on the oversized leaf above that provided me with a shade that the eggs were laid and the larvae had their first meal, their own egg? Was the half-eaten leaf opposite their next meal? Each petiole acted like an onramp to the stem, which, like a highway allowed the caterpillar to reach further leaves that would be fodder for subsequent meals. Where then did the caterpillar, like a cold newborn baby wrapped in a warm blanket form a chrysalis and become a pupa? It was inside this protective layer that it remained motionless and underwent changes and after a few days, the outcome emerged. Fluid was pumped into the wings, wings spread and flight was taken. That all potentially happened in the source of my shade, in the arch’s roof, or the two trees in front of the gardener’s house.
I stare at our reflections and wonder where the caterpillars have been. I am tempted to veer off the path and like a child walking through the park, let my curiosity take hold, engage my sense of wonder, and be guided by my imagination. I begin to ponder the sadness, imperfection, pain, and hurt that led to the people I see in the reflection. As the cycle continues, I will have time to ponder further. But for now, I should take a moment and admire the butterflies, our elegance, our beauty, the large white wings flanking our slender thoraxes resting on stick-like legs.
Themes - summer fashion, butterflies, the present
Your turn - Submit a 600 word piece of fiction based on one of these three themes and a selection will be placed on the blog. Happy writing.