The Yellow Butterfly

January 3, 2010
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Days spent happily with Poppy, the best grandfather in the world. Days spent at the woodpile, gazing at the meadow, searching for the cats that frolicked there, and searching for yellow butterflies. That was our time together when I was young.

The woodpile is gone now, and I’m not sure where or why, but lovely memories flood into mind whenever I am with poppy.
It was a beautiful spot: Lush, green trees that made a swooshing sound whenever the wind blew. A bright, colorful meadow that sometimes had a cat or two in it, searching for mice and such. Poppy and I always tried to find the cats, saying “Here, kee, kee, kee!” to get them to come to us. And the best part of the scenery: The woodpile itself. To the naked eye, it would just seem like a place to store dead trees for a fire. But for Poppy and me it was a storyteller’s stage, a tree-climbing camp, a café, a hot spot, and a dog training academy for Toby. Many happy days were spent there, and still are spent there, even if not physically. And days were also spent searching for yellow butterflies.

Ever since I was little I adored yellow butterflies. What started the liking? I don’t know. But one thing I do know is that they remind me of Poppy, and warm feelings are always present when a yellow butterfly is present. When we were at the woodpile in Florida, poppy and I always strained to see those little flying critters. Even though they’re so simple, not a rare or endangered species, they strengthen our belief that even little things make life more beautiful. Even now, though time has taken its course, Poppy and I still love yellow butterflies.

Days spent at the art museum are also very common between us. Poppy always says: “First, go up close to the painting, to look at detail. Then back up and you’ll see how it comes together.” This is really neat perspective, and I have learned it by heart. It has become woven into the cocoon of my life. This saying makes a large point on the world and what it should be.

Aside from the museum, I have had beginner art lessons from Poppy. Since he and my Grammy moved here from Florida when I was four, I have learned to use pastels, oil pastels, watercolors, acrylics, and colored pencils. I have even painted a picture that hung as décor in my home for quite some time. Because of these lessons, I think that Poppy has played a large role in keeping me outside of a cocoon and helping me stay a beautiful, free butterfly. Poppy painted many pictures, but my favorite is a very special picture: A portrait of Toby and me sitting peacefully under lush, green trees, the golden sunlight streaming down on us, a bright, colorful meadow in the background-- all of this centered on the woodpile. And also there is something else peeking out in the corner, almost creating a seek-and-find, hiding, and if you are not searching you cannot see-- is a yellow butterfly.

All these times are memories of the past, present, and future. They are stuck fast in the garden of my heart. But all of them share one common thing: They are all memories of happy days spent with the best grandfather in the world, my Poppy.

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cinti kid said...
Jan. 8, 2010 at 9:09 am
Amazing Grace
dramaflower said...
Jan. 6, 2010 at 8:09 pm
This got posted so fast! I am soooooo happy!
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