To steal and turn a phrase from Mr. Ali, "Float like a butterfly. Sting like a B... B for Barb, that is."
Having a plethora of bugs to choose from out here in the wild (especially at this time of year), I've been studying my li'l entomological friends. Studying and trying to learn from them. Flies pester. Mosquitoes search and destroy. Bees work hard. Ants constantly march, march, march. Butterflies though... butterflies seem to have nothing better to do than grace the day. They rise from the various berry bushes with a flutter and then land again, as if to say, "See me? I'm here." It's in that grace that they get my full attention, above and beyond all the others. They're so delicate, yet so persistent... so fragile, yet so full of life.
They leave their mark in imagery. Just now I'm looking out at a crop of rather tall dandelions in my front yard. Flitting in and among the yellow blooms are a dozen or so all white butterflies (maybe they're moths, but I'll give 'em the benefit of the doubt). Long after I've forgotten the nagging itch from the mosquito bite on my ankle, I'll have this beautiful green, yellow and white picture in my mind. I'll draw on that picture in the dead of winter when everything is covered in snow.
The lesson? Leave some kind of beauty hovering around on someone's path. Make it indelible even if it's intangible.
And now I'm off to work like a B.