Flash Poet

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Touched By Grace



Huff, huff, huff. Must-fly-away. Huff. *stumble*Huff. Must find safety-fast!Huff, huff. The two girls standing above me exclaim and giggle, moving to poke me with that horrid stick again. I wish that they would just leave me to my wanderings through the quad and mind their own business. Compared to all the sights University of North Carolina has to offer, one would think they wouldn’t notice the presence of a single butterfly.

Need to rest my wings, though not here, anywhere but here! I need to- oh! At that moment the giants shift and glancing between them I see the most joyous sight. Standing farther into the group of black and white clad humans, there is a girl with brown hair and blue eyes. She looks over and sees me, her eyes lighting up just to dim again when she sees the actions of her fellow peers.

Is that...no it can’t be...oh it is! It is! Nearly getting impaled by these wretched beings, I fly towards this most welcome of places. Others would scorn my judgment at this moment, for why would you fly out of one torturers’ grasp and into another’s? However, they can’t see what I can see. As I approach, she holds out a finger, indicating that should I choose, I would be welcome to stay in her protective presence.

Landing gratefully, I rest my wings, shaking them out every now and then. Curiously, she moves her finger towards herself, and, understanding that she too tires, I shift to her breast and stand directly over her heart. From the look on her face, she’s filled with pride and pleasure at the prospect that I chose her to be my rejuvenating perch and can barely contain her joy. It feels good to be appreciated and respected.

Feeling a little better, I walk around in small circles, determining how deep into her spirit the grace goes. Some of the other girls hold up things that flash and make clicking sounds. I shudder inwardly, sighing in relief when they back away from us.

Many people do not know that a butterfly can sense the essence left by a butterfly no matter how long past. This girl has been the refuge for my butterfly brethren thrice before, though many do not know of it.

Thoroughly refreshed, I decide to take my leave. I circle her before I go, letting her see that she will forever have a butterfly’s blessings.

Drifting away on the wind, I smile to myself. Little does she know, ¨ to be touched by a butterfly, is to be touched by grace.¨

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