Sweet encounter

There was a muffled fluttering sound when I entered my workroom a little before 7 this morning. As I lifted the blinds, there was this beautiful creature holding on to the textured window pane. It must have drifted in the day before without my knowing.

For once I had the presence of mind to get my camera and shoot away. After a couple of shots, it slowly opened its wings, revealing a pair of yellow orange center panels adorned by brown splotches of different sizes. “Look and let the beauty of my wings start you off to a good day!” the creature seemed to be saying.

I sensed a connection in the making at that instance and my heart began to pound.

Quietly I watched. In a while it moved to the wooden window frame. We both stood still. And so did time.

Thinking it is better than the cold surface of the glass or the hard surface of the wood, I picked up one of the small plants sitting on the window sill. With a bit of coaxing, the little beauty moved from the window frame and gently perched on the plant.

There it stayed but only for a while. Soon the lure of the morning light seeping through the pane proved irresistible. Still perched on the plant, it maneuvered itself towards the glass as if bathing in the reflected light.




In a moment, it left its perch and again held on to the glass, perhaps to have more of the morning light.

After a while, I took one of the water plants hoping it would move from the glass. It did shortly, settling on the plant's main stem, its head towards the water this time. Then I began to worry. Is it hurt? Is it sick?

But I do not know anything about such creatures. And all I could do was to watch quietly and hope that it is all right. I finally let it be – silent, still, perched on the water plant, its center wings now hidden.

Hands shaking, heart pounding with an excitement I couldn’t explain, I took the card out of the camera, transferred the photos onto my computer, and uploaded them onto my Facebook page.

Moments like this are gifts that must be shared, not simply filed in one’s memory. In thanksgiving, I began to type this brief account of this morning's surreal encounter.