She stood still as the rock, still as the trees. Her body became just another landing strip for the monarchs seeking a resting spot. Her head, her shoulders, her arms, her legs, her hiking boots all swam orange and black. The feet of butterflies on her bare arms felt like wind disturbing her hair. She raised her arms and watched herself transform into butterfly. Her nose, her cheeks; they too twitched with butterfly life, butterfly legs, butterfly wind.

Please leave a comment with your first 50 words on the topic “butterfly.”

Note: I just stumbled in this, written in  1995, long before Barbara Kingsolver made me think such thoughts again in “Flight Behavior.”


Author: Virginia DeBolt

Writer and teacher who writes blogs about web education, writing practice, and pop culture.

3 thoughts on “Butterfly”


    The nice waitress topped off my coffee. I looked at my watch–almost time to pay up and get to work. I kept looking at the butterfly tatoo on her cheek. I didn’t like tatoos on women, but this was not overwhelming.

    I had been eating breakfast here for over a month. It was handy–a large parking lot and it was on my way.

    This morning I decided I would ask. “Marcie, why did you have a tatoo put on your cheek?”

    She smiled, “I was born with a birth mark. People would look at me and cast their eyes downward. And guys wouldn’t ask me for a date. I got tired of it. I had a tatoo artist use the red/pink colors in my skin and make a butterfly. Now guys ask me for a date and old ladies don’t turn their heads or look down.” She smiled again.

  2. They land lightly on the lilacs feeding on the limitless clusters of fresh spring flowers. They flutter and dance amongst the branches. A seasonal treat of flirting colors which swirls amid the newborn greens of thaw. The children bound outside to prance around the lilac tree. To admire all the colorful beauty; flowers and winged wonders called butterflies

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