The Butterfly Effect.


The Butterfly Effect.

The phenomena defined for worlds determined by laws of cause and effect.
Small changes made by the flutter of the tiniest of wings.
Setting off cataclysmic changes. Causing Hurricanes. Violent Rings.

The Butterfly Effect.

Sitting on the grass. At a local park.
Waking up from a from a summertime nap.
Rubbing my eyes. Blinking to clear the blur of shapes & colour that replace the restful darkness.
Extending my legs. Stretching my arms overhead. And yawning.
Breathing in. Breathing out. Looking around, what’s the time? It’s still morning.
Sitting up Straight and bending my legs.
And suddenly my eyes catch the sight.
Of a beautiful butterfly. Gently in flight.

She glides through the air.
Bobbing around me, seemingly without a care.
I sit transfixed.
I don’t want her to leave. I want her to stay in my vision. Hopefully she’ll choose to sit.
I hold my breath.
In fear that it’s strength will blow her out of reach.

Softly she lands upon my bent knee.
So light. I cannot feel her slight weight through the thickness of my jeans.
As she lands. And begins to settle.
Her wings move slower and slower.
Allowing me to appreciate the fullness of orange on her wings.
They could be on fire. For that’s how much they seem alive.
Framed artfully by black and white lines and dots.
That appeared to be painted on her wings. With careful delicacy.

For some time I just stared at her.
And I started to talk to her.
Slowly not caring if anyone was listening.
I wanted to know where she had come from.
From what land?
I almost felt that if I listened hard enough.
And waited long enough.
I’d be able to hear her whisper an answer.

..

A breeze passed through the park.
And played soft music.
We enjoyed it together. As it’s only audience.
The soft winds carried a story from the flutter of her wings.
As she hopped from one knee to the other.

..

She had flown from far away.
She had been born. And reborn with wings.
In worlds of Guns, bombs & conflict.
Lands torn by violence. But still covered in jungle. You could still hear the birds sing.
She told me of the rumbles from far away.
From Land mines. Explosive sounds.
Casting vibrations felt from the ground.
Sending waves through the air. That carried her wings. Further & Further away.

She saw many men.
With large metal guns.
She saw them smoking cigarettes. With glowing amber ends.
Some with arms and legs wrapped in white cloth.
But covered in Red. Red. Blood.
She told me she would often rest at the mouth of rifles held by weathered soldiers.
Sitting. As she would land. And begin to settle.
Her wings moving slower and slower.
The soldiers eyes would become transfixed.
And he would hold his breath.
In fear that it’s strength would blow her out of reach.
After time. The winds would blow.
And her voice would be carried to his ears.

I wonder what she said?

The Butterfly Effect.

..

She had flown from far away.
She had been born. And reborn with wings.
In worlds of Guns, bombs & conflict.
Lands torn by violence.
Sparsely covered by jungle. Intermittently disturbed by settler cities.
She told me of the rumbles of their voices.
Of the lush, beautiful homes of men who saw themselves as Kings.
She told me of dark hands that worked tirelessly to keep his walls white.

Once again she saw many men.
With large metal guns.
Not far from Children playing the streets.
She told me about how she would love to dance between them.
Fluttering in and out of reach. Of their smiling faces.
When they tired and would wait.
She would land upon their outstretched hands.
Sitting. As she would land. And begin to settle.
Her wings moving slower and slower.
The little ones stood transfixed.
Holding their breath.
In fear that it’s strength would blow her out of reach.
After time. The winds would blow.
And her voice would be carried to their ears.

What song did she sing to them? I wonder.

The Butterfly Effect.

..

A silence fell upon the park.
As the winds begin to swell.
I felt a heat on my face and as my hand touched my cheek.
I felt tears flowing like rivers across them.
I ran my fingers and felt it’s texture.
For some reason I did not want to it wipe away.
Letting it flow. I just sat still. Carefully in place.
Not wanting her to flutter away.

..

I extended my finger out towards my knee.
Hoping that she would accept my advance.
And come a little closer.
Slowly she scaled my hand.
And I could finally feel the slight weight. Of her presence.
Carefully. With my eyes as wide as they could go.
I took in all of the detail on her wings that now only I could see.
The feeling was electric.
Now feeling a desire to keep her for my own.
My mind flicked through ways to keep her company.

..

The wind came once again.
Flowing through the leaves.
And once again it played soft music.
We enjoyed it together. As it’s only audience.
This time though she was now closer. The soft winds now carried no stories from the flutter of her wings.
We sat in silence.

As gently as she had arrived in my sight.
She now took flight.
Fluttering and gliding along.
She was gone.
Long after she had left.
I longed for her company.
Feeling a sense of loss.
Yet knowing I cannot lose what was never mine.
I sat and I wondered.
If I would ever see those wings again.

The Butterfly Effect.

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