I wrote this for Rachel and posted it for her on the anniversary of Jane's death. I didn't expect to see her all day, as her previous pattern on June 10 had been to hole up in her room and write all day.
Later, when it was time for the second caterpillar to emerge from its cocoon, something strange happened. The caterpillar didn't emerge as a butterfly; it was still a caterpillar. Somehow, in its grief, it refused to move on. The pattern repeated. Each year, it would make a cocoon, withdraw into it and then emerge, still a caterpillar.
So now, we're witness to a strange scene. The caterpillar has picked up a lot of friends along the way. There's a group of butterflies and a couple of new young caterpillars gathered around the annual cocoon with an inchworm, a couple of ants, even a grub or two. A warrior bug watches alertly from far above on a branch. A single angelic spirit butterfly flies silently above the cocoon. The feelings of love and anticipation are palpable. They're all staring intently, hoping this time to see wings.