Period.


I am saddened on this day of freedom.  Why?  For my sake?  Oh, in the least.  I have fond memories of days spent with my children, free in the meadow, looking underneath milkweed leaves to find the eggs of monarch caterpillars.  The egg being no larger than a period it took a dedicated mind to search.

“Did you notice that dot?” the gaiety of footsteps and boundless laughter ensued. “Oh, there is another one!”

listen the silence
child hear the story told
wrapped in sparkling gold

Yes we found many eggs.  They lived beyond the gestation period.  With each new morning they grew, having spent the previous day munching away.  Each caterpillar consumed at least one leaf, possibly more.  I could not keep track of their calories but soon they cocooned in a spring green blanket sewn with gold thread and slept while I tended to weeds, admired the blossoms, daydreamed to nature’s melody.

I wondered if they too heard the bird song, a lullaby of sorts until the crow cawed, signalling it time to wake from mere fantasy of flying, to dry their teary wings and soar.

Soar.  I find it hard to say that word.  I have not found a monarch egg for years.  I struggle with the thought of a vanishing monarch that once was queen of the meadows.  Is this her last period?  The end of her story?  It was a joyful time when my children and I raised monarchs in our backyard.  Not so much anymore.

I wrap you swiftly
my golden thread weaved through time
pray you rise today

Dear child of mine, should you read this and only shed tears I wish you sweet dreams all your years.  There was a time we soared, not so much anymore.  Peace.  J

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