Painted Ladies
I thought they were leaves. It hadn't seemed very windy when I'd walked to my car, but as I drove to school, I found my conveyance bombarded with tiny leaves swirling through the air. It's springtime, I thought. This looks like a fall flurry, an autumnal assault. Where did all of these leaves come from?
I was transported back to New England. I remembered driving down dark country roads at night, the headlights illuminating only the road in front of me. The tiny skittering leaves dancing before my car. The larger ones rolling across the pavement, doing impressive impersonations of mincing mice or frisky frogs, daring the auto gods. I'd cringe for each one that tempted my tires, waiting for the telltale… Splat! that never came.
I pulled into the school parking lot to wait for my son. He got into the car and said, “I guess it must be migration season.”
I liked at him in confusion and asked, “Why?”
“Look at all of the butterflies!”
I shook the scales from my eyes, and looked around me, as if for the first time. Lost in my memories, I had failed to notice the miracle surrounding me today.
*********
@MayaISharp It's easy to write gloom-and-doom about the environmental crisis. However, the day that inspired this piece was based on hope, despite the environmental crisis.
https://themarginatrix.weebly.com/
@marginatrix