“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough,” shares Bengali poet, Rabindranath Tagore.

Indeed, it’s know not the marking of time, nor flurried pace. It exists simply upon petals’ edge – knowing only the pleasure of the blossoms grace, and the scent forever infused upon its gentle wings.

“Let your life lightly dance on the edges of Time,” he writes “like dew on the tip of a leaf.”

Oh, that we might benefit from the lesson it brings, this tiniest of creatures perched delicately for all to ‘see.’

As we examine, truthfully, our capacity to exist, just as the butterfly ‘kisses’ each blossom.

Leaving us as humbled witnesses to gratitude gentle wish.