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[hdsqrl]

It’s funny, to me, how cyclical the world is. 

When I was 14, I stepped outside the kitchen of the bar I was unofficially working for and noticed a butterfly floating, wings spread, in a bucket that had filled with rainwater. I lifted out the butterfly and placed it on a stack of napkins I held in my hand, and kept careful watch over the creature as it dried itself in the sun. I stared, amazed, at its tongue, as it uncoiled and re-coiled it, seeking to understand the surface it sat on. In time, I gave it something to drink…a bit of soda, perhaps, as I knew it wanted something sweet. Within an hour or so, it was ready to be on its own again, and I happily set it free in the shadow of an abandoned building that sat near the bar. 

 

Since that time, I’ve been sat upon by butterfly after butterfly, in places as varied as amusement parks to quiet lakes. I can’t help but wonder if that first butterfly left its mark on me, letting other butterflies know that I was safe, much as hobos would leave their marks on various buildings. However, aside from a solitary moment this past summer, it has been a long time since I was graced with a butterfly’s kiss.

 

The last few weeks I’ve been reading the writings of joegoda, and have been thoroughly enjoying what I’ve read. Today, following lunch, I was midsection-deep in his story, The Heartstone, when I had an overwhelming urge to go outside. Something itched within me…something that I couldn’t quite put a name to. 

That something was an outpouring of words that had been building up inside me.

 

As I walked through my workplace and made my way to the stairwell, I realized that this place has the Grims as well. I’m looked down on as a contractor here, even though my skills are above the skills of the people employed here full time. With a few exceptions, most full timers adopt an expression of distaste when speaking to any of the many contractors here, as if we’ve collectively got a bad smell about us that only the full timers can sense. It’s deathly quiet here, and speaking of death, within the last 6 weeks or so, three people have died here. Just…died. Old age, heat, heart attack, whatever, it’s pretty disconcerting. All those who died were full timers, though, so that does give me a small bit of comfort. But the quiet…no one speaks, generally, and when people DO come to ask you about something, they’ll stand there dumbly, well overstaying their welcome, and just sucking out your will to live. It’s a dreadful place to be, long term. 

But back to my walk.

 

I decided to walk around the parking lot. The lot here is huge…absolutely huge…and as I picked my way across three different exits, all the while checking out where some employees had chosen to affix the parking stickers to their motorcycles, I began to think. I thought in that way in which I wished I’d brought something to write on….something to record my thoughts…something to draw on…just, something. As I reached the corner edge of the lot, I realized that I couldn’t see over the smallish hill that bordered the lot. Huh. I wonder what’s over there, I thought. 

 

I stood on my toes to see over the hill and saw that a saucer-shaped depression had been formed in the ground. Not a bowl-shape, just a big flat saucer-shape with a flat middle and higher sides. I walked along the parking lot side of the hill for a bit, then went up to the top of the ridge. The ridge at this point turned at a right angle and went straight ahead of me…with the saucer depression on my left and a valley on my right that led down to some woods. The moment I stepped into the grassy area, the ground came alive. Crickets buzzed and hopped out of my path, yellow and white butterflies flew all around, as if out of nowhere, odd black and orange beetle-bugs scurried out of my path, grasshoppers bounced up and down, some knocking into me as they did so. It was as if I’d stepped through a door…coming out of some alternate reality of death and silence and back into the land of the living. Colors were brighter, the sun was warmer, and there was…noise! Dear reader, you may think I’m fictionalizing this, but I promise that I’m not. It was truly an odd, yet very pleasant awakening sort of feeling.

 

I saw, to my left, those wild flowers that grow along intersections…those pretty cornflower-blue ones that look like little daisies.  Chicory, I think they're called. They’re my favorite flower in the world. I read it as a sign that I was indeed welcomed here. Perhaps even, the flurry of insects were welcoming me into their world…a world very rarely ever entered by humans on foot. I suspected that the most action this area ever saw was when the monthly mower would swoop through, knocking the vegetation back into submission. It had been awhile since any mower had been here, though…the plants were reaching up to scritch-scratch my bare ankles in that way that plants can do when you're in a simple pair of Keds and no socks.

 

I picked my way carefully along the ridge, making sure not to step on any of my new friends, pausing to admire the butterflies as they danced across the grass. I hoped that one might come closer to visit me. I got about halfway across the ridgeline, and settled myself down at a point directly facing the woods. A tall oak tree stood directly in front of me, down past the valley that separated us. To my left was a small clearing with three off-white colored blobs in it. Rocks? Mushrooms? Random trash? I wasn’t sure. I sat with my eyes closed, thinking about that butterfly I’d found long ago. I heard a thump and saw a grasshopper land atop what looked like a soft green foxtail, and it seemed to eye me curiously. I kept still, enjoying the warmth of the sun on my back. I closed my eyes again and just relaxed.

 

The breeze was soft yet steady, and I listened to the hum of the insects. One lone bug would rev up and down like a streetcar changing gears. I also likened the sound to a long snore…it would go for several seconds, then stop. Then go again, then stop. It sounded as if it was coming from a few feet in front of me, but I didn’t get up to see what it was.

 

A shadow appeared on the valley floor in front of me. I looked up, squinting into the sun, and saw a turkey vulture swirling above me. I wondered if it thought me to be food, as I had been sitting so still. Around and around it went, enjoying the breeze as well. Eventually it flew off to someplace else, in search of food that was already dead.  I giggled silently as I thought about how close it might actually be to something dead.  Check out that building over there, bird.

 

My ankles were starting to itch from the prickly dead grasses under me, so I got up and made my way down the hill into the valley. I had no idea if I was going to have a hard time getting back UP the hill…it was something that crossed my mind but that I didn’t worry too much over…my mission was to investigate the off-white blobs I’d seen from the ridgeline. Down here were grasshoppers by the bucketloads. They’d jump up and land on me, scaring me from time to time. I really don’t mind if a critter wants to share a ride on me…but it’s the shock of a sudden landing that always surprises me. The off-white blobs? Giant mushrooms. Giant. I put my hand with all five fingers outstretched on top one of them, and the mushroom was still bigger. Wow. A smaller mushroom had been nibbled on by some sort of critter and it lay just to the side of the biggest one. 

 

I wasn’t sure how safe I was, down there in the valley, out of sight of the security cameras that lace the parking lot, so I started back toward work. On my way, I found what I’m guessing is a vulture feather. It’s big of course, and is brown with black striations, and it has a thicker black band near the end of it. My mind flickered briefly to the memory of my mother telling me Not to Touch Bird Feathers, because they had Germs. Then another memory came up that told me that it was dead birds you weren’t to touch, not just the feathers. Whichever…I pulled my hand into my sleeve and used my sleeve as a safeguard against The Germs, and picked up the feather anyway. As I strolled back through the grasses, I plucked several of the green foxtail plants, intending to put them into water when I got back to my desk. I came across one of the blue flower plants…one that had just 2 flowers on it…and tried to pick those as well. They would have none of it, and as they insisted on not being picked, I left them there to enjoy the sun. Silly flowers…they’re just as stubborn as I can be.

 

Walking back across the parking lot, I contemplated my little adventure, and realized that, just as that one butterfly rescue circled back around to me in the way of other butterflies thanking me, so the inspiration to write makes its circular journey. seer_of_athena, you’ve been inspired to write again and again. joegoda, you’ve also been inspired to return to writing.

And now, so have I. I realize this has been a terribly long winded way to get to this point, but I wanted to remember the origin of the feather I now keep on my desk. I’ve no idea what sort of writing will spring from this well…perhaps just random commentaries on my life…but I do know that I’ve mightily missed the experience of releasing my creativity onto paper (or screen, if you will.)

 

I do believe I’ll get back to that. It makes for a much happier Megan when the day is done.  And although no butterflies came to visit me today, I do believe they've now been reminded of who I am, and it's my hope that the word will once again be spread.