This morning, the butterfly came to visit. She flew closely for some time, and I prepared my camera. She was orange with black spots. She came to my hand and was prepared to stay there. I wondered what I had done to obtain such an honor. Perhaps it was my cologne, which is named Angel. She was one Angel attracted to another Angel.

Butterflies fascinate me. So elegant and sublime. A fragile creature of beauty. A creation of God representing him well.

So it is with we humans. We are intricately and majestically fashioned. Each of us is unique. We usually walk rather than fly. Yet we are meant to soar with the eagles. We thrash about looking for our mission in life. My Butterfly knew her mission. She is here to lift the spirit of the downtrodden. She is here to bring peace. She was here to be a friend to the Old Man.

The simplest things are the most profound. Communion with nature, communion with each other. A simple occurrence that reveals faith and the cosmos in its happening. We want to hear the timpani of the clanging cymbals. The Earth should move toward us. The powerful elite must place their stamp of approval on us. Yet the Butterfly says it all.

‘The woods are lovely, dark and deep, and I have miles to go before I sleep.’ Robert Frost

Fine clothes dry rot. Mansions crumble.
The heady joy of career success is a memory as life proceeds. My colleague often said that we struggle and strive, and yet none of us gets out of this world alive.

The sky was dark on the day of chaos. People ran in all directions. The President said to trust him. He had the answers. Yet he seemed to not understand the suffering in the world. He noted that he was not worried about affordability. Herman Wouk wrote the
Winds Of War. The winds of war blow about us constantly. Everyone is afraid of what is coming. Irrationality is distressing. Hope is needed. The Butterfly is needed.