Puddling Orange

Posted: September 4, 2012 in butterflies, macro photography
Tags: , , ,

Every once in a while, something great happens. Like after the many times where the Orange Emigrant and I would pass shoulder to ear, and ear to shoulder, that I’d force myself to keep walking away, having to watch the weather, watch the time and watch the circumstances and weigh this choice against the probability that it would never quite stop for me.

Then on a day bereft of practical choices, having walked myself into the ground, the Orange Emigrant stopped for me.

Things certainly did not start out that way. During the seasons when I was young and was on a path to prove to the world that they were wrong to doubt me and that I would brave any kind of fire just to prove a blind point that I could fight wars, I chased the Orange Emigrant through many a trail, believing that that was all that would take to turn the odds of making a creature beyond command bend to my will.

Through the years that ensued, however, having torn my knees and hands through thorns and brush, my thoughts, confused, conditioned to believe that all things in Life live out an unerring pattern, lost themselves in the best intentions and desires of others.

Then on day when the caterpillars have eaten all these palaces of trees to the ground, whilst languishing amongst the dead leaves, in a magic meeting of time, space and day, the Orange Emigrant stopped to drink water bleeding from sand and stone.

And I sat up in the mud and rejoiced at being proven wrong, watching a whole inflated third of my life with its grey skin of make-believe wisdom and sinewy beliefs and preconceptions tear open to give way to second chances, different choices.

I blew the Emigrant a kiss long time coming, and stopped, watching as the familiar bright tail of the Singapore Dream flit farther and farther through the trees out of sight, leaving in its wake, wet trails spangled with possibilities.

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Comments
  1. Lauri says:

    A tale of hope found! Beautiful!

  2. trailblazer1 says:

    The sadness still lingers in your voice, but on that day you found joy in the mud. Good to see you again.

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