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.
No comments:
Post a Comment