the boy and the butterfly

sunny day in the park. rolling green hills around. rollicking children at play. shouts and thrilled screams emanate in all directions.

one little wide-eyed boy suddenly stops. winged magic flutters by him, carried by paper-thin wings and a gentle breeze.

intrigued, the boy follows, fascinated by the lightness of the creature's travel, the brilliant colors, the beating of the wings. the butterfly, nonplussed, continues on its journey. finding he cannot keep up with the beautiful thing, the boy begins to trot, eyes fixed on the radiant wings.

this cycle continues for a short while, the boy and the butterfly alternately increasing his own pace. the boy is running, hands eagerly outstretched in an attempt to capture the regal creature that, but for the change in speed, almost seems to be ignoring him.

finally, after a few minutes of zig-zag paths and stop-and-go pursuit, the boy catches the lovely. (or perhaps it allowed the boy to grasp it in his stubby hands. one can never be sure.) in breathless wonder, the boy slowly opens his clasped hands. what his little fingers reveal is completely worth the avid chase--the butterfly is just as perfect, just as magnificent, just as calm in his hands as it was in the air. the butterfly breezily opens and shuts its wings, displaying its underside and topside to the boy, as if putting on a show.

the boy is enraptured, completely engrossed in the beauty of the tiny creature cradled in his palm. for a moment, his world is wrapped up in this insect that he quite abruptly loves and somehow feels loves him in return. despite the butterfly's imperious stance, its devastating beauty, and rapturing beauty, there must have been a reason it flew low enough and slow enough to allow the boy to snatch is from its lofty perch on the wind.

yes, it must have been love...

with a flap of its wings, the butterfly is airborne. soaring, floating, it is quickly above the treeline. the little boy stands motionless, silent, hands still cupped around the memory of the most beautiful thing in his little world. a tiny tear escapes his eye... but a smile spreads across his face, because for a moment, that creature was in his hands, and it loved him back, loved him enough to be held quietly and be adored for the beauty it was.

moments later, the happiest boy in the world was back on the swing set, legs pumping, reaching new heights and thinking maybe, just maybe, he might one day fly after that beautiful thing...

maybe.