Moment

(Sorry I'm running a little late this morning ... I was out late last night ... sitting in with a poetry group. I recommend it. It leaves you with the feeling of ... for that interlude ... being transported. And the next morning ... you may sleep in a bit, savoring the aftertaste ... but there's no headache, no hangover)

Only once in this lifetime have I experienced the sensation of a butterfly settling onto my hand.

I'm sure, as a child, I must have dreamed of such a thing, without ever really expecting it to happen. It was like lying on a hillside, looking up at the clouds, and imagining what it might be like to fly, literally fly, above them ... something to speculate on, but not to be attained.

Then there I was, an adult ... a very tired adult ... sitting on a hillside far from those amid which I did so much of my early dreaming ... and there was a butterfly ... sitting on my hand.

Had I known then what a haiku moment was, I would have declared that to be one. Instead, I simply sat, transfixed, watching, waiting ... and finally squinting to follow its path as it departed.

I suppose some will read into the poem a feeling, not just of the butterfly's departure, but of loss, too. I prefer to think of what I had gained.

And so it has been with the visits of those who stop by to take a look at "Chosen Words." It has been an adventure far beyond my imagining. I'm still trying to catch up on all the comments which have been posted ... I thank you all ... and my apologies for not being able to thank all of you individually.

Then the crowd moves on. There are other journals to visit, to explore, to evaluate and comment on.

It grows quiet here.

If I were to read "Moment" aloud now, I might be the only one listening. But I would savor the words ... I would read them carefully ... and I would recall the heat of that day ... the sun ... that butterfly ... just as I am now looking back on the past several months, savoring the words you have left with me.

As I continue reading your words in the days to come, I will remember ... your thoughtful comments ... the kind things you've said ... and I will think of all I have gained from your visits.

And I thank you for all of that.

The poem:

MOMENT

The butterfly sits so lightly

on the back of my sunburned

hand that I barely feel

its tiny feet clinging, tongue

tasting the essence of me.

I sit stone-still, watching

as it clings, seeing its tongue

uncurling to taste, feeling

my breathing subsiding

into the rhythm of its wings,

folding, unfolding,

sit savoring the reverie

attending the encounter with this

being that has flown to me

like a tiny fleck of fly ash,

but has chosen me, the most

unlikely of choices, and keeps

sitting here while I consider

whether I might seize it.

Then, as though sensing

my intentions, it lifts lightly

off, flying raggedly, majestically

across the sun-swept field,

perhaps pursuing a search

for someone more worthy,

leaving the weight of absence

pressing my hand.

© 1999

(originally published in Vincent Brothers Review)

***

Today's word: majestically

Afterthoughts ... in response to your comments:

Thank you, Michelle, for sharing that experience. I chased and caught a lot of lightning bugs in my growing-up years, but I never had one approach me ... and land ... so you're ahead of me in that department. That, as you say, would have been a memorable moment, too.