I opened the blinds this weekend and the most gorgeous butterfly (or moth?) I have ever seen was perched on my window frame.
It was clearly designed to look like dried leaves, and I know that sounds drab, but let me tell you, this thing was exquisite. I’ve never seen a stained glass window or painting this intricate and amazing. The Mighty Monarch doesn’t hold a candle to whatever this anonymous beauty was.
And my first thought was to scurry off and get my tablet to try to take a picture of it.
Fortunately, before I got too far scurried, two thoughts collided in my head:
First, I remembered that I’m trying to be more intentional about savouring moments of beauty rather than missing big chunks of them in my efforts to hold onto them.
Second, I remembered the myriad pictures of the fawns out in the yard, or other beautiful things I’ve tried to take through these (roughly second story) windows, and I thought “You know the picture’s not going to do this justice; you could just stay here and enjoy the beauty instead of running around the house looking for a camera.”
So that’s what I did.
And thank God, because in just seconds, the butterfly decided that my window screen wasn’t comfortable, or remembered an appointment, or whatever it is that prompts art to meander on its way.
I could have missed most of this tiny miracle while searching for my tablet, or taking countless frustratingly bad photos.
Obviously this is an itty-bitty-baby-step in the grand scheme of living a slower, more present, more abundant life, but it’s a step, so I wanted to celebrate it.