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She couldn’t believe that she was just seeing the first butterfly of the year; it was already May. She wanted to chase it, to catch it, to hold it and just stare at it, a rare sight now but one that filled her memories and was so close to her heart. The first butterfly of the year– she hoped it would not be the last.
By Emily URL on 04.10.2017
I once did a lot of reading on the symbolism of grave stone art and mourning jewelry. Seems something about catacombs lends itself readily to the visualization of cocoons. There are even butterfly kites flown during some day of the dead celebrations. A soul taking flight becomes a cross cultural meditation on the transcendent nature of metamorphosis. But the actual creature itself, however elevated in art and given spiritual significance, could stand a little more appreciation for its plight in our ever changing environment. A cascade effect that starts off small, like the loss of a species here and there. Geologically we are riddled with mass grave yards.
By Reading Rainbow URL on 04.10.2017
Flutter and flitter is the way they fly
But the colors are so alive
Light to the touch, so fragile and frail
A gentle peace they bring, the butterfly
By Textist URL on 04.10.2017
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