Lucky for Me
March 15th 2023
It was late March, and the warmth of spring had begun to nurture the garden beds, new growth blossoming with every soft rain. The ground was alive, imprinted with the steps of creatures that scurried along, building homes and eating their fill after a cold winter. A small rabbit sat quietly along the edge of the garden, munching on fresh, delicate sprouts that pushed upward from the damp earth. The creature’s jaw moved back and forth quickly with each bite, and it paused for a moment when my right shoe scuffed the gravel beneath me, catching its attention. Its nose stopped twitching, and for a moment it sat frozen, camouflaged by winter’s residual grey and browns. I carefully ambled away, leaving it be.
The oaks were budding, and their presence softened. It seemed as though with every hour that passed, new leaves burst forth, encasing the branches in bright, fragile foliage.
I found myself oddly delighted by the sight of the first stubborn weeds that needed pulling. I was quick to remove the crabgrass sprouts, envisioning their unfavorable potential, and carefully tugged on thistles until they broke free. The clovers were resilient and loyal, creeping along between rocks and plants, year after year. I had always invested time into removing them and attempting to ensure that they did not return the following year. My efforts typically were a waste, and by June or July, I let them roam free.
Carefully, I pulled a small handful of clovers from the soil, along with their stringy, stolon roots that sprawled out in every direction, and I laid them into a bucket. I grabbed the silver handle, and after examining the rest of the grounds, meandered back toward the house, where I planted the clover in a small wooden box that clung to the kitchen window.
…
This morning, as I filled my tea pot at the sink and the sun began to rise, I observed an eastern tiger swallowtail, drying its wings in the soft morning light. It danced around the garden, landing briefly on different plants, and eventually finding its way to the window box, where it rested on a a fresh cluster of white petals. The clover has begun to bloom.
I watched as the butterfly positioned itself on the plant, its proboscis uncoiling and reaching down into the cluster, siphoning. It was purely remarkable and though momentary, it seemed I was lucky enough to witness a lifetime on the other side of the glass.
