Oh, to be blissfully away in the small, lush garden of my daydream cottage,
barefoot, feeling the occasional ant exploring unchartered territory in its search for the way home;
baresouled, by and for myself, with no audience to impede my natural self;
soaking up the May sun,
looking up at the bright blue sky through the emerald leaves of a tall oak tree,
tree sparrows tantalizingly trilling about the freedom of discovering yourself in the embrace of a white cotton candy cloud,
bees busily buzzing about tasting the sweet nectar of the cornflowers, the poppies, and the chrysanthemums,
crickets cheerfully chirping about the happiness of simply being,
there, in the present,
with no wandering thought that there’s no unchanging the past,
nor having certainty in the future.
Oh, to feel the dainty flutter of a butterfly’s wings
cease as it lands on your rosy cheek,
then suddenly dancing away in the warm spring breeze,
filling you with the childlike wonder you haven’t felt in many a year,
making you sprint to your feet
and chase it with the wild wind in your tousled curls,
letting the boisterous laughter reaching your upturned lips
join the harmony of trills, hums, chirps, and the murmur of the nearby spring.
Oh, to be chasing butterflies in the garden,
to be a novice at life’s symphonies and requiems,
just now coming to know the first,
and never the latter.
Oh, to be chasing butterflies in the garden…