One of the ruminating rituals of fall is when catching a flash of orange and black of the Southern flight of  monarch. Seeing their serpentining flitter of their constant three steps forward and two steps back journey south.

I seem to be a little east of the main concourse and really only get to see two or three a day on the migratory route. I can remember a time as a child in Odessa TX when we were in the midsts of the main stream of the flight. Monarchs roosted on most every bush and the blaze of color truly had an impact on my wayward mind. Literally thousands of the beautiful creatures gathering in mass surely for no other reason than my delight.

I was not a library kind of kiddo, but I was off to the row off big books for information. I wanting to know where they were going and why. I stared with the wow factor of an image of a man standing high in the Sierra Madres. His arms out stretched and his body entirely engulfed with butterflies. He looking to be a mummy encased in Monarch butterflies. I longed to be in that place. I have always been plagued with the curse of wanting more and thousand of butterflies on a bush in my back yard now seemed small potatoes.

Now as age has calmed just a tad of the always wanting more. I am fully content to have the pleasure of seeing just one winging his way South against the prevailing winds. It is a small gift of bewilderment that I get to catch a photo as they refuel for flight.

Yet, I still long the stand on that Mexico mountain shrouded in such a glorious gift.

monos en theos…†…jim