These little butterflies were just hanging around my house, and it was a gift to get to take their photos. I got to celebrate when I didn't even realize that it was a special occasion.
 I didn't realize how many photos I had of things lurking.
Irony is being at an event you've waited months on, and yet you don't have the glasses to look at it. I'd ordered them, and I'd been certain to check the date, but the glasses were now scheduled to arrive...after the eclipse. The morning of the eclipse, I was on a full-speed schedule, and had to run an errand before I could start on my journey toward totality so I didn't even think to see if Wal-Mart had any glasses before I raced away. I didn't know exactly where I'd stop but my wish was to go to Broken Bow, Oklahoma, because it's beautiful even on cloudy days. Cloud clover was immense, and I didn't make it to Broken Bow because my husband believed we should stop at Lake Hugo. Hugo was scheduled to be a 100 per cent totality area so I agreed. I decided to have the best day possible. My picnic basket, camera, and spirit of adventure were all at hand and I took photos of the nearby clover. Everyone else was also making the best of it more-or-less even if they weren't smiling. It didn't seem like the glasses were going to matter. Cloud cover stretched across the sky.  More vehicles arrived and the parking area filled. At one point, three men stepped out of their car, and they were laden down with viewing equipment, and they laughed...and it seemed they were laughing at the futility of expecting to see the eclipse. One other observer voiced his total lack of excitement for what he seemed to think was a washout. The clouds were lingering. My husband teased me about the clouds parting, and his attention wandered to something else. I looked up and thought, "God could part the clouds...for these people here." It wasn't a prayer. It was just a thought. "God could," I told myself and I had a feeling of faith in His power. The sky didn't change as I considered the view. It didn't diminish my faith. In fact, perhaps it did the opposite. I felt that a higher being could have that ability to part clouds. Pretty impressive. Nothing happened immediately.  And then, the clouds started to part. They did. I really couldn't look at the eclipse because I didn't have glasses, but the clouds were parting. The eclipse reached totality and maybe I did glance up for half a second, and I kept pointing my camera that direction and hoping. It didn't get dark immediately like I expected...and then it did. I took a photo and then about four minutes later I took another one.   After the sky brightened someone started a round of applause, which faded quickly, and then another round of applause that I participated in. My husband kind of teased me and I responded with a happy-lifetime-event-deserves-applause type answer. He noticed I was tearing up from the emotion of the moment. And so was he. For me, it was a heavenly event. Even without the glasses. I had seen the eclipse. And one of my first photos when I pointed my camera lens above gave me a great view.  For me, it was as bright as any rainbow. The photo kinda looks dark now, but this was underneath it.  I don't have to wait for decades to see an event like butterflies in the clover, but I hope to appreciate the everyday wonderful sights around me as much as I do the rare eclipse...or maybe I should appreciate them even more.
 When I walk by the Partridge Pea on my acreage, I usually just keep moving. One or two plants and a few blooms. Weeds more than wildflowers. But when I was exploring a Nature Conservancy area near Pawhuska, OK, one year i saw the Partridge Pea blooming with a vibrancy I'd never seen before. Even though I've been walking many of the same trails for some time now, the changes from year to year amaze me. Just because I see one wildflower blooming abundantly one season, I know I'm not promised to see the same blooms next year. There's an old saying, "The only thing constant is change." I didn't realize how true that was in nature. This autumn, the pollinators have again found the blooms growing best for their needs.  Butterflies are like magic, or proof that there is something at work deeper than we can understand. Could Leonardo da Vinci have designed something in so many colorful varieties, so many variations and something the world could probably do without, and have done such a fantastic job? When their wings are closed, they can mimic a leaf. When their wings are open, the color can be vibrant.
They could all have been green or brown and still managed to get their job done. Creatures change over time. In the past, I understand how the smoke from London’s coal caused the lighter colored moths to get eaten first by predators while they were on structures, and the darker ones survived better, and they reproduced more. In only a few generations (people-wise) the moths had evolved into a darker shade. But how could generations of butterflies evolve into…butterflies of so many shapes and variations? Particularly those shaded like leaves when their wings are closed, and showing a different appearance when their wings are open. Leonardo could have conceived their outer variations if he only that the one project, but perhaps then I’d have to consider how da Vinci was designed. I’d like to have asked him to shed some light on that. If only the butterflies could talk. But maybe they do. Through their colors, shapes, and when they’re stopping in front of us.  Perhaps we accept the unbelievable matter-of-factly because it’s always been there.
Photos: From my yard. |
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