Earlier today, as I sat on a stone wall outside the historic Thompson Farm House along the Shore Road of Ogunquit, I witnessed a monarch butterfly end its final flight.
It landed on the smooth rock surface beside me and inexplicably let go of life.
One moment so wondrous in motion through the air, a tiny, colorful canvas on a seemingly conscious journey through reality. The next moment, though the animation of life had whispered away, the remains were no less beautiful, caught by the autumnal breeze and carried to join the fallen foliage of the season on a pilgrimage returning them both to the unseen place and process where they rejoin the earth and give themselves over to the soil.
Though the experience began as an oddity of slight sadness, I was comforted by the notion that this butterfly, with which I had shared these few poignant minutes, was fortunate enough to have the fiery fall leaves as pallbearers of sorts towards the next destination, surrounded by blazing yellows, deep oranges and dark browns to the point where colors merged and blended, and dignity, and beauty in death were naturally assured.