My work is interrupted by a streak of beauty.
A pale, luminescent, butterfly, her body drifting effortlessly in the breeze. Wings open and shut in a bold sensual shimmer.
My puppy leaps from the deck, filled with wanton love, her legs springing arrows behind her.
She catches the butterfly with a loud snap of her canine jaws, a relic of her hunting ancestry.
And devours it.
I am shocked from my dreamy writing world to the sharp world of reality, the paradox jarring:
Adorable puppy. Killer.
For a fraction of a second, my perceptions shift and a story flows through me.
That I came to the world like superman,
arriving in a steel egg, with certain innate weaknesses.
I had a mission, promptly forgotten.
Except that one minute each day, it passes through my thoughts, like a headline news at the bottom of an internal screen.
By the time my mind’s eye can focus, it dissipated, dissolves.
Bouncing dots, pixilated purpose.
Today, due to this tiny collision of canines and marsupials, I see the writing clearly, among the chatter.
My mission on this planet, I realize, was only this:
To raise a dog, to read a book, to bless a child, to kiss a lover, to sing one song.
Evidently, I am done.
Hopefully, my mission is renewable.
Not surprisingly, my dog is my companion to my internal Elysium.
Corte Madera, CA
Joanell Serra is a Northern California writer. Check out her other work via her blog. https://joanellwrites.com/