The butterfly bush outside my office window has bright purple-pink spikes of tiny little blossoms all over it. They point towards the heavens in long, curved finger-like projections sort of silhouetted against a light blue sky. Against the paler, yellow-green of the horse field beyond, the dark leaves of the butterfly bush appear almost black. From early to late in the day, three large yellow monarch butterflies flutter about, collecting nectar methodically—up one side of the fingers and down the other—with a singularity of purpose that belies how susceptible these lighter-than-air insects are to even gentle gusts of wind. No matter how often they are disrupted from their tasks, no matter how tossed about they become, the butterflies return to the site of their unfinished blossom spike to make the most of what they have been given. We much-blessed humans would do well to learn by example, to realize how often by comparison we fail to make the most of what we have been offered.
Posted on: Tue, 09 Jul 2013 11:48:30 +0000
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