Hello Spring #SOL20 #30/31

I’ve been waiting for you! Some say the sign for spring is the daffodils. I believe it’s the Monarch caterpillar.

It’s been a busy day for the most part. I’ve cleaned my closet, detailed the inside of my car, and trimmed some plants, among other chores. The best part though, was discovering you.

I’ve wanted to straighten up my closet for a bit now. After two weeks being at home, I decided to take it on. Cleaning out the closet means I will be hanging garments in the laundry room too. To achieve this task, I’ll be going back and forth out the back door down some steps into the room through the old two-tone wood door. The heavy rains this past season worked loose the base. It drags across the cement as I pull it open. I’ve decided to keep the jeans in the laundry room now, and the blouses hanging in the bedroom closet. It’s all about managing space in a tiny house.

On my way out, I stop to tend to the Milkweed shrub. Danger lurks from all angles for this plant. Once a wild seedling, it blew and nestled between the bricks and the wall. A perfect place to germinate a seed thought no human. On the right side, it is leaning over into the laundry entrance. My clothes sway through the air as I tug them this way and that. The arm of a blouse catches a twig every now and then.

I can’t seem to get myself to pull it out. I feel a tug on my upper lip. Something beautiful about a worn-out, old friend. I remind myself, it’s a local stopping point for the Monarch butterflies to sip some nectar and leave some eggs behind. I push back the branches over the bag of birds seeds. All stretched out on the bag rests a Monarch caterpillar. Is it his brilliant green skin or jazzy yellow and black stripes that pulls me in for sheer delight? Or maybe it is his antennas swaying in the wind. It could be the incredible transformation he’s about to make. Better yet, the joy I feel knowing I help year after year these little guys make their journey up and down the Pacific coast. Either way, it’s a sheer delight. With my glasses on, I lean real close. Did you get enough to eat? Do you need help moving back to the plant? How may I assist you? I ask a thousand questions. I stop, watch and feel the joy this little creature brings.

Moments later, he lifts his upper body off of the bag. The twig bobs back and forth just out of his reach. His tiny hands reach for a leave. Finally, he inches his way back on the bush, mowing down dozen of leaves to prepare for the big day. Be well, my friend. I don’t know if I’ll see him again, for he camouflages perfectly with the green limbs and bright yellow and orange flowers. Be well, my friend. Back to the bedroom closet I go.

Published by Joan MS Durrin

a Wife and Dog Lover; an Educator, Writer, and a Reader; an Outdoor Enthusiast, a Learner.

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