Fragile and Beautiful

Ever since we put up our first cutting of hay, the purple clover have been growing vigorously and blooming plentifully. Every day when I walk out to collect eggs, I have noticed the many butterflies flitting from flower to flower. However, I didn't stop to admire their splendor until today. 

I've been busy lately, and distracted. There's too much to mention in that area, but I will say that it's been less than a week since my mother's funeral. So, today, in the week of my birthday, amid my sorrow and confusion of heart, I made time. I took 15 minutes to watch them. I scattered the scratch for the chickens, collected the eggs, and stood at the board fence with my camera in hand.

I saw five different kinds of butterflies. Most of them were Eastern Tiger Swallowtails. Some of them were Eastern Black Swallowtails. I also saw some Great Spangled Fritillary Butterflies, Red Admiral Butterflies, and Checkered White Butterflies. 

There were so many butterflies.

The upper hay field was in constant motion.  The butterflies fluttered from flower to flower. They spiraled around each other in groups. I began snapping pictures to the drone of bees as I stood sweating on this day with heat index warnings.

Soon my 7 year old was at my side. Instead of being awed by the beauty and fragility of the butterflies, instead of contemplating the mysteriousness of life, the frail grace of the frantic flapping, he summed it up as only a little boy could. "It looks like they are fighting," he state matter of factly, pointing to the butterflies rising in spirals around each other.

At first I chuckled. "You think so?" I asked rhetorically,

but then it hit me. "Yes," I thought, "they are fighting. Like all of us, they are persevering. With God's grace, they will persist. And our lives are just as vulnerable, fragile, and beautiful."