A hedge of green lantana dotted with hundreds of quarter-sized blooms lies between the two acre body of water and me. There are butterflies, some are dark gray with patterns of baby blue eyes on the lower edges of their wings. Others are a faded yellow with black, zebra-like stripes that drip from the top of their wings toward the bottom. Their flights rise and fall as they happily float above the golden buttons, then gracefully alight. Dragonflies, like miniature helicopters, hover and then dart away in a blink. Strange looking bees--which Meagan describes as having the body of a lobster and the wings of a bumble bee--buzz about them in frantic fashion.
We all share this little ecosystem. For them, it's the source of their sustenance and their part in the larger scheme of God's creative genius. As they feed they also pollinate and join the cycle of re-creation. Observing their world feeds my soul.
I chased the butterflies around to photograph them. Finally, I got one of the gray ones with its pattern of baby blue eyes to pose. A slight disappointment came upon me when I realized its perfection was marred. Its wings were tattered. Did a bird try to catch it, or did a sudden draft of wind dash it against the rough bark or branches of a tree?
As sappy as this might sound, the peacefulness of the moment was interrupted, and that will always be the double-edged experience of living in a world that offers glimpses of beauty, but is laced with reminders of its brokenness.
Peace, but never perfection.