A Butterfly

A caterpillar does not know it becomes a beautiful butterfly.

On the western edges of Vancouver Island there is a place called Long Beach. The sandy beach extends for kilometers, there are few if any homes visible and the tides wash away any signs of human presence. It is a healing place. A place where the cold waters of the Pacific Ocean crash to the shore creating a mist which generates dancing rainbows as far as the eye can see.

I have had the exquisite fortune to walk the long flat beaches there, touch the pieces of weathered driftwood and to sit and bask in its magnificent solitude and natural beauty. It is a place I visit irregularly, each time writing my thoughts into the sand with my foot in big letters only to watch the tides wash them out to sea. When I do so I feel a sense of letting go. My words and thoughts only lasting until the next surge erases them. I know this act sounds strange and wonder why I even do it but there is something which attracts me each time. The letting go is as if a need is met and

the message is delivered. Reflecting upon this I imagine my markings somehow get transformed to become part of the rainbows overhead. Each time as I leave that special place I shed a tear wondering why I have not been able to share that moment and those thoughts with another? To keep those rainbows, close and near, brilliant and bright tucked inside to grow and experience other delights. I think I am missing something...