Adopt the pace of nature:
her secret is patience.
--Ralph Waldo Emerson
I've been seeing Monarchs flit and float on the air currents as I drove my sedate 45-miles-an-hour to and from Zenith, pulling a fertilizer tank. I hoped the butterflies were not wiping out on the grill of the pickup or blinded by the dust kicked up as tires met gravel road.
Monarchs, the "Queen" of butterflies, are in their annual migration, a journey that takes them from northern climes to the warmth of Mexico for the winter months. To me, they are like flying stained glass, the brilliant orange and yellow of their wings framed by black, like panes of a church window.
At home, I'd walk the tree rows, searching for a Monarch taking a breather. The Rose of Sharon bushes at the driveway evidently aren't butterfly magnets. I've never glimpsed any butterfly swooping in for a quick drink of nectar from those pink and white blooms.
On Snapshot Kansas on Facebook, I'd seen a few people post photos of Monarchs grouped together on tree branches, kind of like farmers hanging out for coffee at the local cafe. But none were using my yard as a gathering place.
On Friday, I parked the pickup and fertilizer tank on an alfalfa field, just adjacent to where Randy was planting wheat. (Yes, we are still planting.) And I finally discovered that Monarchs must like the purple alfalfa blooms.
God, thank You for the moments
that wake me up to this perfectly beautiful world.
(From a Guideposts daily email devotional)