crosspollination

I took a walk after work down through the small town I work in. I got a kiddie-sized ice cream and passed the galleries and shops that lead down to the river.

I didn’t notice at first that these asclepias bushes were teaming with life.

Ice cream dripped down my hand as I watched the catepillars munching away, and the Monarchs slowly flapping, drying out, in the breeze, gently dangling from pale white bell-shaped flowers.

It struck me that they have gone through quite a trial just to get to this quiet flapping. Where do they go from here? Do they find others of their kind, half a world away, and spend a few hours or days drifting along in butterfly bliss? Do they know how few of their kind are left? Can they sense the beauty around them, and the beauty that they themselves possess?