Miracles, Memories and Magic

So as I sat in the patio today, writing, watching the sun slide slowly across the sky, a little white butterfly pranced and danced around me, fluttering, flying, bobbing and weaving in and out of my personal space. I loved it as I witnessed this little visit form heaven. The butterfly floats into the back door poking it's wings in the kitchen to have a quick look-see, then back around my shoulder. I find this phenomenal and just a wee bit miracle-ly in it's path of flight. This pronounce and undeniable precious moment, particularly special and symbolic to me, has happened before once while I sat at the kitchen table enjoying a cold beer. A white butterfly had the nerve to land and stay perched on my shoulder then rest on my hand for several minutes. Nothing short of magical, a grace-filled albeit fleeting moment for me to consume whole heartedly and enjoy to the nth degree. I have pictures documenting the moment. I'll have to dig them out and post.

What I want to bloggity-blog about, this day, the 23rd and my favorite day of any month, is the following excerpt from a story about a girl who out of necessity from wounds left from days past, scarred by life, incidents and accidents, yet delivered graciously, by the dead...blazes her own trails, however off the beaten path they may appear, however different, eccentric, peculiar or odd she may be. She marches to the sound of her own voice and beating heart.

"We choose our truths the way we choose our gods, single-mindedly, no other way to feel or see or think. We lock ourselves into our ways, and click all the truths to one. We put our truths together in pieces, but you use nails and I use glue. You mend with staples. I mend with screws. You stitch what I would bandage. Your truth may not look like mine, but that is not what matters. What matters is this: You can look at a scar and see hurt, or you can look at a scar and see healing. Try to understand." ~ from "A Gracious Plenty" by Sheri Reynolds

One more little thought to bring peace and comfort to this sometimes tired n weary, sometimes charged-up and so good to go, heart of mine, is this: Just when the caterpillar thought the world was over, it became a butterfly ~ Anonymous