Today as I was shoveling only a little more snow off of my back porch, I glanced up at the Tibetan prayer flags I hung fluttering slightly in the wind. They are pretty weathered now, unraveling as they are meant to do, fading and fraying, sending prayers off into the sky. And in watching them I remembered the last of the monarch butterflies I raised clinging to the delicate edges, awaiting their first flights, and how I prayed for a safe journey for each and every one.
It’s been a long and hard winter for me, very dry creatively and emotionally, for a long time. There was even a point back in December, before Christmas, when I was contemplating moving back into town and leaving my sometimes lonely and challenging country life behind.
But thankfully, things have been looking up since the new year began. I had another gentle but powerful reminder today, thinking of the 50 plus butterflies I raised and released, and how if I had not come here or if I ever left this place, I might never get to experience anything like that again. And all it took was one small, beautiful moment to remind me.