Dancing Butterflies
Image created on Canva
On a late spring day, I walked along the nearby trail, carrying a heaviness I could not name in my heart. Usually, a walk on the trail lined with pines, oaks, and other small trees helps me relax and breathe easier. I also kept my eyes open: a few times before, I’ve gotten lucky and caught a deer or two drinking from the gurgling stream that cuts across the path.
A few minutes into my walk, something caught my eye, and I stopped. Just ahead, two or three feet away, three butterflies hovered over the path. Huge monarchs — yellow and red — bobbed up and down in circles, as if dancing to a music only they could hear.
They rose and dipped and whirled in the air, their wings sparkling as the sunlight caught them. A few birds from nearby trees chirped along to the scene, confirming the miraculous moment.
The trail that I regularly visit suddenly turned into an enchanted one. As a vlogger, I instinctively reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my smartphone. With trembling hands, I tapped the phone screen.
What a piece of luck, what a wonderful post the butterflies would make! It was a joy to capture beautiful moments and share them with my friends.
I lifted my phone — video frame ready. But the second I tried to capture the butterflies on camera, their energy changed. Their gentle rhythm became erratic and fast. They flew in and out of view, slipping past the lens sight before I could focus it. I readjusted, stepped closer, held my breath, and tried again.
Were they sensitive to the Wi-Fi or Bluetooth frequency I was using?
The butterflies did not fly away despite their shift in speed. After a few more attempts at videoing, I switched to taking a photo. Still nothing. Not a single clear capture. The more I tried, the more they eluded me.
Helpless in the situation, I reluctantly lowered my phone. Almost immediately, I observed a slowing of their movements — their previous grace returning. Then, from somewhere within me, a voice I was familiar with in poignant moments spoke up.
“There are signs around you, a lesson for you, in the dancing butterflies.” I heard.
I stood more at attention, absorbing every second. In the butterflies’ circled movement, I caught its suggestion of life cycles — of beginning and ending, of forms changing and returning.
They did not pause, did not try to hold a shape or the moment. They moved for the joy of moving — yellow, red, yellow — with blurred glimpses of their heads and bodies.
As if aware I was not filming, they moved above me, and began to circle me with their dance. A brief, almost amused thought crossed my mind; I was no milkweed, no source of nectar.
And yet, here they were — accepting me like I am part of their travel buddies on Earth.
The voice in my head came again.
“Not every moment is meant to be held or captured by lenses — some are given only to be lived, and then to let them go.”
I stood still, serenaded and captivated by beautiful creatures part of the universe we shared. They continued to dance around me, and close enough, at times, that I could have reached out and touched them. But I did not.
In that quiet surrender, something within me began to loosen. The heaviness I had carried onto the trail softened. The butterflies asked nothing of me; they did not hold onto their dance or their beauty. They moved through their cycle — the metamorphosis of life — without holding on to moments, and took me in.
Perhaps that was a life lesson. I, too, was passing through moments I could not carry forever. Feelings, uncertainties in a chaotic world; none of them were fixed, but in motion. Like the butterflies, I did not need to grasp each phase or every fleeting moment — I could move on.
For a while, I stood there, suspended in that quiet awareness, until a soft gust of wind moved through the trees. The air shifted, and with it, the butterflies drifted away — scattering gently into the forest.
I resumed my walk along the trail. The path was the same, the trees unchanged, but something within me had lightened. What I felt earlier no longer weighed me down. I walked on, carrying with me memories of the butterflies, the feeling they left behind. I did not have a photo or a video of them; only their lightness of being remained.
Don’t worry! We have more pieces like this one waiting for you here:
- Destination Inspiration – Fitness for Creatives
- From the Mountaintops: 5 Hikes for Inspiration – Beautiful Places to Hike
- Gratitude – Appreciating the View
- The Joy of Walking – Finding Inspiration While Walking
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Tulip Chowdhury
As a contributing writer for The MockingOwl Roost, Tulip Chowdhury’s writing explores life from the trivial to the pivotal, blending the visible with the invisible — like a kaleidoscope. Her favorite leisure activities are reading, listening to music, swimming, and walking in the woods. She lives in Georgia, USA.
