God Bless the brave caterpillar.
Munching luxuriantly on milkweed,
Hollowing away in their emerald chambers,
beset with golden locks.
Glimmer, at last, turns to darkness
and in that hush, I wonder,
is there sleep?
Is she content to let go, to simply
close her eyes?
Perhaps she’s done this before.
Perhaps she relies on ancient stories that tell her she will emerge,
fuller, lighter, freer. Does she know the story?
Either way, she goes.
God bless the brave caterpillar.
Deep, deep, away. Into the dark.
A brave caterpillar she is.
And when all that she has known
is let go,
a pin prick of light.
Simple, Sweet, Full. Here I Am!
“I didn’t see you.”
I was here.
Within that quiet journey, the fragrance of milkweed far away,
an urging,
a calling with different ears,
a nudging of new wings. The stretch!
Emerald armour fades, locks unfasten,
and Alas, I can fly!
God bless the brave caterpillar.
Anthea and Marigold greet each and every new butterfly in the meadow. Here, the black swallowtail visits one of Anthea’s zinnias while the Great Spangled Fritilary tests his wings. An Eastern Tiger Swallowtail rests upon her hat and of course, she is old friends with the yellow sulphur who sits merrily on her shoulder.
