A little butterfly
Once in a cocoon
Knew not then I
That beauty comes so soon
Back at the beginning of summer, I roamed the yard looking for the perfect spot to plant a small tray of freshly sprouted Marigolds. I cleared away the mulch from a small flower bed in the back, dug nine holes, filled them with fertilizer and placed nine marigolds in the cool, damp soil. And there, all summer, in the bright evening sun, they flourished. They are a reminder to me of the beauty in change.
I often find myself wishing things would never change. But if they didn't, I'd still be a lifeguard this summer, my bed would never be made, I would never have been able to revisit a high school teacher and find a friend, my marigolds would still be tiny sprouts, and that little butterfly would still be a caterpillar.
I would be the same person I was one year ago, before I ever boarded a plane for Utah to begin my year at BYU. I would never be able to say those sweet words that Shakespeare so masterfully penned "Twas I, but tis not I."I would still be an English major who wanted to minor in ballroom dance and creative writing. I would know nothing of the joys of editing, language, and linguistics. I would never have met my good friend and running buddy. I would never have laughed with the girls down the hall or joined them as we sat outside in the freezing cold late one night eating grilled PB and Js. I would never have sung duets with my coworkers in the dish room as we washed dishes with the gay-heartedness of the seven dwarfs singing on their way to the mines. I would never have met the wonderful group of people that work with me at the Dentist's office, nor the sweet, sweet children that I have the privilege to play with at the YMCA play center.
I heard a story once of how a man who was planning to go home and commit suicide, but, after attending a concert, changed his mind when he heard the beautiful music. I'm sure the artist had a beautiful voice, and I do not doubt the power of music, but after a summer working with young children, I am convicned that any toddler could produce the same change.
If nothing ever changed, I would take everything for granted, like a roommate, friends, a home, grades, and marigolds. With friends all across the globe - at home, or on missions - I've made keeping contact a priority, because I've realized that change is inevitable, and so you have to fight hard to keep anything constant, and friends are just that: not constants, per say, but two people constantly changing to, in change, be two that are constant.
And so, while I have my anxieties towards the upcoming year, I've resolved to welcome change, for without it, I could never recognize the constants.
My sheets are tucked tight. My bed, for once, is made. My suitcase and duffel are lying open in the corner, almost packed. My closet is full of empty hangers, a couple shoes and a bag of yarn. My bookshelf is crammed tight with all the books I wish I could bring with me but know better than to believe I'd have the time to read. There's a journal sitting beside my laptop that is finally absorbing ink after a summer's drought, as I try desperately to record the last few days of summer. There's a stack of notes, concert tickets, and memorabilia from college, that minus some pictures, is finally being scrap-booked. I did a terrible job of keeping up with friends from home, but my desk is littered with letters headed out to Mexico, California, and Russia, where my college friends are serving missions. Somewhere in some corner of my room is a little dust bunny crying because he is all alone after I went through and exterminated all his friends. Scattering the floor are a couple shoes, the gym shorts I'm supposed to be changing into to mow the lawn right now, my running shorts, which for once are clean, awaiting my half marathon tomorrow, a couple cords and chargers belonging to who knows what, the scrubs that I wore to the dentists office all summer and will have to be returning shortly, and a small stack of books I'm hoping will find room to squeeze into my carry-on.
But outside this mess is a small plant box, where, four months and forever ago, a young girl planted nine orange Marigolds.
And, there, all summer long, in the bright evening sun, they've flourished . . .
Candidly,
Cookie
***See A Summer's Portrait
