Wednesday, October 24, 2012

Grace in Vulnerability

Outside my father's window is a dusty red patio and a row of bushes entangled in the backyard fence. The fragrant plants attract an array of butterflies and birds. Today I saw a blue bird skipping underneath the branches as zebra butterflies levitated over the stench of fallen berries and dead leaves.

For the past week I have been entranced by the activities outside the window. My father's hospital bed is sidled up alongside the glass, but he stares straight ahead at the TV. I'm surprised no one else seems to notice the butterflies. When I point to them, my father just shakes his head 'no' and continues staring at the TV.  When I mentioned them to my mom she sought a botanical explanation.

"Well...they're attracted to the berries."

It seems unreal. The butterflies look like they're on strings dangled from above. I guess it's seems dreamlike because the serene silence. The insects make no noise and don't seem to be going anywhere. They look like floating flowers or animated pieces of paper. I wanted to take out my camera but the moment was too fragile to sustain documentation and social media reposting. Instead I just gathered the view with my mind.

The butterflies feel gentle and vulnerable. Their ecosystem consists of shade, sweet fruit, and mud drenched in berry juice and pulp. I want to go into their space but I worry that they'll scatter. For now I just stare out of my father's window.

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