Monday, November 9, 2009
It must be my rebel spirit acting up again. Rather than accepting the fact that it is autumn (my favorite season, none the less), I have started making butterflies. Butterflies that remind me of flowers, of warm weather, of another season. Colorful tissue paper butterflies on a mobile, strung up and hanging nonchalantly in our home. Not fall butterflies. Spring butterflies, summer butterflies.
But just as I was threading these tissue paper butterflies up onto the embroidery hoop that I repurposed for a mobile hanger, I looked outside and spotted some orange leaves sailing to the ground and realized that Virginia autumn has, in fact, enveloped me with butterflies-- sweet crimson, saffron, burnt orange butterflies. Butterflies that we can watch the kids at the bus stop racing to catch, that look so delicate and feel so deliciously crinkly. Like the monarchs, racing to their ancestral home in a flashy show of beauty and color, these butterflies inundate us with excess, beauty, fleeting color and show. This is the time of their lives, sailing against resistant air, gently fluttering to the ground.
Yes, butterflies are definitely in season.