Monday, 3 June 2013

82 - Wings

Linda talked of herself as having a ‘butterfly mind’, and when prompted by puzzled expressions would expand “Oh, I just flit from idea to idea without being able to concentrate on any of them!” She would then take the metaphor further, and explain how at least from her fleeting chance encounters she had gained a good overview of how beautiful the world around her was. What she never understood, what was missing from the eulogizing at her crowded humanist cremation, was how beautiful the friends around her regarded her flitting among them. For from where they stood, Linda’s wings had made a snow angel from their powdery existence.