Metamorphosis: The Journey by Elizabeth Anna Samudio
I saunter back into my kitchen with a fresh bouquet of purple basil and lemon mint for the Greek salad I'm preparing for our Fourth of July celebration. Without a moment’s notice an unfolding of color captures my attention. Like a silk batik that discards its Winter musk, is the black, yellow, and azure swallowtail--dispelling her past, a place of obscurity--as she emerges into the day. Her destiny.
"Hey, look! The butterfly! She made it. She's alive!" At the sound of my voice, Isaiah runs to the scene. “Isaiah, calm down. You'll scare the thing to death." His dad's warning doesn't seem to faze him, nor does Isaiah's impetuous behavior dander the beautiful insect. She tentatively walks along the length of Isaiah's arm and stretches her wings. "Mom-Dad-it's so tame. She likes me-- maybe she thinks I'm her mother."
Weeks earlier, I picked a bunch of long stemmed fennel. I didn't notice the tiny caterpillars that camouflaged themselves among the yellowish green plant. But after a few days of robust feeding, on the licorice flavored herb, the black and green striped larva gave themselves away like a dandelion growing out of a crack in a sidewalk.
We marveled at the occasion to observe the Master's handiwork and learn from life's monitor. We gathered information off the Internet, which confirmed that the crawlers were destined to become butterflies. Before we had a chance to supplement our computer research to determine the insect's life cycle duration, two of the larva escaped or were devoured by Mocha, our cat. The two remaining specimens had formed cocoons. When we discovered their hiding place, they were as dried up as the aged fennel they hung from. Isaiah and I observed the parched shells and decided to leave them a little longer just in case there was any life left inside them.
I slide the window open. We had not rehearsed the departure of this lovely creature. But like a choreographed drama, we take our places to release the butterfly. At the wind's beckoning, she extends her wings and lets the breath of a new day take her away like a Spring blossom that dances upon the morning breeze.