Sun

Mid afternoon arrived with triumph as emerging victorious from behind the mass of defiant white clouds came a fiery orb. Between then a battle for ownership of the sky had transpired for the majority of the day and finally the fiery orb had won with grace. The sky now empty of clouds this orb hung/suspended magnificent, limitless, a god. It burned so intensely that it seemed like the entire sky had been ignited by this manifestation. The landscape of pastures and hills were transformed instantaneously by this intensity, previously a multitude of greens and browns it was now transformed; as if a radical artist had snatched up a paint brush and painted on this real life canvas with a translucent golden glaze. With the fiery light also came rivers, floods and torrents of intolerable heat, it descended relentlessly upon the earth’s surface and heating it to almost unbearable levels.

Looking a little bit closer, down past the atmosphere, into the centre of an isolated meadow an old humble oak tree lived. Centuries old, its roots embedded deep, deep, deep within the soil spreading for meters underneath the surface of the meadow. It had quite clearly made its home exactly where it stood. Though it must be said that the tree did more than just stand it was immense, epic colossal. Larger than life. Yet the old oak tree remained unmoving and impassive to this remarkable modification in weather. It showed no outward signs of acknowledging the change, deny but not ignorant, for if the oak tree were to survive, to continue to live and breath, it to must change and adapt like the continuous changing environment that surrounds it. The old oak must constantly seek out light and water, it depends, relies upon it. With the ingoing hunt for light tree grows upward and outward in complex winding patterns. With the appearance of the light the wind had subsided and each one of the oaks emerald leaves remained still and continued glinting in the dazzling light. Down underneath this shimmering blanket of leaves slept a young girl, her head gently resting upon the oaks majestic trunk, her sandy straw hat rested gently upon her face, shielding her eyes from the harsh sunlight. She had slept there most of the afternoon, worn out from her mornings laboring. By the state and color of her dungarees and hands it seemed like she had been picking a deep red fruit, as her hands were stained a deep strawberry red color and her dungarees were muddy and grass stained from crawling around on the floor, picking the strawberries from the small plants in the field adjacent to the meadow.

Above her sleeping head clinging desperately on the tallest branch of the oak tree, nestled between masses of leaves hung a small delicate cocoon. Inside the cocoon waiting patiently, was an even smaller caterpillar. Miraculously over the past few months a slow and steady process of change had occurred in the caterpillar’s body. It had developed wings, radically altered its structure and had turned into a most beautiful butterfly. The outer cocoon shell, previously the caterpillar skin, cracked open and the butterfly was able to squeeze out. At the moment she is unable to fly. Her wings tiny, crumpled, and wet and so it would be a few minutes until they would fully unfold and dry out. She gave these new found phenomenons a tentative flutter then unexpectedly she gave an almighty shudder, a shudder so powerful it loosed her grip causing to fall, fall, fall. She began fluttering frantically, but her wings were to wet and continued to pull her down, fortunately she met the young girls hat with a soft bump. Unhurt but seemingly troubled with this unexpected landing the butterfly gave one last solid flap of her wings, shaking off the minuscule droplets of water and headed straight into the sky. Yet a small epiphany dawned upon the butterfly, the sensation of total freedom. Instead of heading off to do, well whatever it is butterfly’s do, she curved back and flew right up underneath the young girls hat and promptly landed on the tip of her nose. This time with a more precise and accurate landing. The girl’s nose twitched slightly at this light disturbance upon her nose but remained sound asleep. The butterfly strode around a while, flapped her wings and as unexpectedly as she had darted under there she flew right back the way she came and into the horizon and this time there was no looking back.

Consequently all the strutting, flapping and general uproar from the dainty butterfly caused the young girl to sneeze, and it was an almighty sneeze, so violent that it blew her hat right off and woke her up out of slumber.

Although slightly irritated at being woken up the beauty of the day consoled her, she smiled dozily then sat up to yawn. With her arms stretched out above her head something made her pause. A faint sound had caught her ear, straining to listen but the rasping of her own breath was muffling the sound. So she breathed in deep and began to hold her breath, and then the sound became clear, crystal clear. Carried by a breath of wind came a melody so angelic, so pure and innocent. It was like nothing she had ever heard before. The music rippled around her body; inadvertently she closed her eyes, the melody sang right into her body and s. It coursed through her blood, her soul, her mind. Her heart beating to the melodies sweet rhythm, to her it felt as if her entire body was made of music and song rather than muscle and bone. She fell into an effortless trance, she began to sway back and forth rhythmically, until her instincts cut through and she drew for another breath. The tight embrace between her and the music disintegrated, lost. Anxiously she tried to salvage and recreate the moment, at once she held her breath and strained to hear that beautiful melody, she listened and listened and listened, but to no avail.