Hope Is A Thing With Feathers ...

I never cared for the beloved poem Hope by Emily Dickinson, although she is a favored poet of mine. I think her words fit for these two images, though; one is a tragic reminder that death is all-too-real while the other is a tender display of bonding between two doves.
Death
Life
Soulmates
Nature
Beauty
... these are all words that come to mind when I think of being alive.

What does being alive mean to you?

A Solitary Farewell


lilynoelle

Soulmates, Free To Fly


Berns

Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.

~Emily Dickinson~

*Special thanks to the artist BERNS on RedBubble.com for use of her beautiful photograph Up On The Roof. You can browse Berns' gallery here: http://www.redbubble.com/people/berns

The Butterfly Journal

I was gifted with a chrysalis of a Monarch butterfly today, and this page will be my daily update on my baby butterfly's progress!

NOTE: I have all of the butterfly memories in a private journal. I'll type it up here as soon as possible. :)

~*~

JULY 28th 2010

Not much news to report on my chysalis today: it seems that there is gentle swelling in the middle, and the waxiness of the casing is lined with very faint vein-like design. So faint you can barely see it, but I see it. The black and gold speckles, and the brilliant gold-dotted line are all glistening magically. It still looks like a waxy jem ready to be made into a pendant.

I bought a miniature rose bush today that has pink blossoms that are purple inside. It is gorgeous, and looks so pretty on my windowsill with the butterfly and my seedlings. Life is beautiful.

Oh, all these living things!

~*~

JULY 27th 2010

As of now, my chrysalis is suspended from a think wooden stick, in a plastic jug. It's a beautiful light green, pale and pearly, looking as if it is a bead ready to be hung on an elegant necklace. There are tiny black dots at the base and tip of the chrysalis, and there are golden dots speckled here and there across the waxy surface. On the right side, a long, thick golden bar promises beautiful wings: a metallic, golden reminder of the incomparable beauty of nature.

I am so protective over this little treasure; yet, it's easy to forget that this jewel-like cacoon is really a living creature in the middle of evolution!

Has anyone else raised a butterfly? I remember doing so in kindergarten, but this is my first adulthood attempt, and I'm terrified to mess up!

Shall I name it? ;)