Planting Butterflies

Distillation.

When traumatic injury occurs, there are no what-ifs or wishes. Only action. Only now.

How things fall – apart – unravel.

yet it is well
still
it is well

The cardinal visits daily outside the kitchen window. How lovely to watch him move about his life. We see each other and move on because what alternative is there?

Libra days, Aquarian nights. Jupiter, Venus, and Mars. How red falls in sunlight; how red flickers with stars.

A misread title: Planting Butterflies. It is dangerous or helpful to look ahead? Books on gardening, butterflies and vegetables pile in the living room.

The last warmth slips away, although strangely, a few mild days. At night I can only think about campfires and stars. No one sits with me and I can't decide if I like it or not.

Birthday brownies for breakfast. Fresh fall flowers. A day of being present for those who wanted to celebrate. Before noon, I unloaded Dad's trailer of wood...half seasoned cottonwood, half freshly downed oak. It's stacked against the garage wall and now when I enter the garage, it smells like living wood – a mix of gratitude and sorrow, joy and pain.

Tell me, is this how you wanted it to be? Perhaps like October, peace falls on you at last. Have we reached equilibrium yet?