It was true what my brother said. It had been ages since we saw a butterfly. This one was of the typical kind of the species—fairly big, with blue designs adorning its dainty black wings. It was a pleasure to watch its fairy-like movements as it flitted from flower to flower savoring the different kinds of nectar at hand. Then the rain played spoilsport, shooing us all away—us inside the house and to the wafting smell of hot coffee and the butterfly, hopefully, to a safe spot.
Then today, as I sat on the veranda enjoying the cold moist early morning breeze, there came another of those fairy creatures. Flitting in and out of flowers and leaves it finally settled down to suckle contentedly from a big yellow flower that showed all the promise of gently rocking the butterfly to sleep as it nestled within its satiny petals.
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When I see a butterfly floating about in the air, I am always reminded that it was once a caterpillar. I feel my body is like a caterpillar - stuck to the earth - while my soul is like the butterfly - born to be free. Life should be a continuous metamorphasis.
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