Butterflies

Up late again. This always seems to happen when I'm thinking.

I went for a walk with Sully yesterday. A jogger passed us. I pointed out the butterfly that was keeping the jogger company. Most people don't see them. I think, maybe, the insects are attracted by the moisture we emit when we run--through our breath and our sweat. Whatever the reason, the butterflies flit about the joggers who usually don't realize they're even there. Sully said he'd never seen it before. I like the butterflies to come with me when I run, so I watch for them.

I think the things I'm figuring out are like those butterflies--beautiful, fragile things flying just our of reach but in plain view--waiting for me to stop running for just a moment and notice what was there all the time.

As each new connection is made, I find myself crying. But it isn't the crying that makes me ache because I'm so sad. It feels more like a release of something that's been building inside me for many years. It doesn't hurt. It feels as though each tear cleanses me. I've never experienced this before. I'm not quite sure what to make of it.