Watching a little adventurer stare at the sky and ask “Mommy, where [did] the butterfly go?”. The rain fell in little drops here and there and it seemed like the butterfly disappeared.
“That’s a good question” I responded.
Looking up too to see if I could feel.
If I could see, breathe, believe,
In forever present butterflies and less obvious other lies.
We used to fanti(size) about as little adventurers,
Trailing through with our imagination as our wand and
hope as our cape of possibilities.
Maybe these raindrops can wash away my conditioning to feel the cold and not the beauty of the moment.
Drip
Drop
Drip
Drop
Drip.
-inspired by my son and grandma-
