A Butterfly and a Boy

I woke up feeling like crap. I struggled to get out of bed, shower and get dressed. I didn’t make breakfast. I don’t like what I’m wearing. I argued with bureaucracies the entire half hour it takes me to drive to work. I willed my car to make it the distance.

Upset, angry, defeated, I pulled into the car park.

One of our Year 7 boys was doing something next to a teacher’s car. I thought, Yep, gonna be a great day. I sat and watched him. He was kneeling in the grass.

He turned around. On his finger was a beautiful butterfly.

He placed it gently onto his school bag and walking slowly, kept his eye turned upon it.

My anger, pain, frustration, seeped out of my pores and into tears. Tears of the beauty in this simple act. A boy looking out for a butterfly. Something so pure, so innocent, so beautiful, so inspiring.

I stopped to talk to him. I  thanked him for reminding me that life can be truly beautiful. He told me it couldn’t fly. I  told him to make sure he put it back on the grass where it was safe then, before the other kids came and tried to kill it.

Looks like we both made new friends this morning.

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