Butterflies in the Rain

Back in August, I wrote a note to my best friend in the whole wide world. She was going through some tough times. Still is, come to that. The weather was uncharacteristicly and unrelentingly wet where she lives, and had been for days and days. She had roof problems, and the water was leaking through into her house. Up here in PA it was a nasty, and very nearly rainless hot August, so rain was quite welcome when it came. Here, with an edit or two, is what I sent her. It may be winter now, but to this friend, and maybe some others, it still applies.

To my best friend, I hope you don't mind that I share this.

It rained here all day yesterday, a good, solid, cooling rain. I drove home under a gray sky. I don’t usually enjoy the color of a gray sky, but yesterday it was beautiful, just because of the rain. (I know you're sick to death of rain, but bear with me.) I was listening to Mary Chapin Carpenter, enjoying her voice and the steadily falling rain so much that when I got home, I sat in the car and listened. (My car is my favorite listening room.) There was a jack-rabbit in my neighbor’s back yard, snacking on juicy wet grass. I kept the wipers on so I could see it better. He seemed not to mind the rain either. I watched him as he grazed toward the butterfly bush next to the neighbor’s house, the bush's deep purple flowers drooping from the weight of the dripping rain. Then I saw something pretty amazing. The butterflies were busy, flitting from branch to branch and flower to flower, and out into the yard, doing their butterfly things. I say it was amazing, because I was surprised they could fly with the rain pelting them. I never really thought about it before. How much harder it must be for them, with their fragile wings, trying to keep from being worn down and washed away in the rain. While it wasn’t a hard rain, it wasn’t particularly soft either, and granted, the little monarchs weren’t flying far or high, but they were still getting their butterfly things done. I imagine the raindrops just bead up on their delicate, orange wings, like dew on grass, magnifying in wonderful detail the intricate patterns underneath.

The sun is back here today, but with less heat. Keep doing your butterfly things. It can’t rain forever.

ADDENDUM: I don't know why, but rewriting this brings to mind a movie I watched recently. It's an Oscar-winning Italian film directed by, and starring Bernardo Bertolucci, 'Life Is Beautiful.' It's about an irrepressible and irreverent man who protects his young son from the horrors of a concentration camp. For those of you that don't understand Italian, it's definitely worth reading the subtitles. If you get a chance, watch it.