Friday Ramble - Taking Wing

Village children were off to school this week, and I watched them go, walked all the way there (or just to the bus stop at the corner) by proud parents, grannies, nannies, big brothers and sisters and family pets. I have known many of the school-bound kids since they traveled about in prams, and here they are going off to school on their own dear little sneakered feet. Dear me, how time flies...

The youngsters wear garments in confetti colors, carry backpacks and lunch boxes in pink, turquoise and lime green, sometimes tote pint-sized umbrellas patterned in flowers or bunnies or butterflies or polka dots. They bloom like pint-sized peonies out in the street, and watching from the windows, I feel like doing a little blooming too.

Only a short distance away, other brightly arrayed offspring are hatching out in village hedgerows, and they are strengthening their wings for the long journey south to begin in a week or two. When monarch butterflies alight on Michaelmas daisies in bloom, the combination of orange, purple and gold is dazzling. Every butterfly is a stained glass jewel, a wild, vivid and breathtaking wonder. Because of air pollution from forest fires in northern Ontario and Quebec, there have not been many Monarchs in the garden this summer, and I am "over the moon" whenever I see one. Why the passion for butterflies, you ask? They are beautiful, and they are the Old Wild Mother's proof of reincarnation.

There are vibrant colors everywhere we (Beau and I) look in September, and they are a sumptuous treat for these old eyes. It doesn't matter whether the riotous tints are on Virginia creepers, monarch butterflies, coneflowers or tiny raincoats - they invite me to kick up my heels and dance.  The truth of the matter is that I can only flounder and flail and lurch about, but that is quite all right.