Hello, there! I've decided, after some motivational moments, to write a new mini blog for any spare time I might have. There might be a little while between posts, but I'll do what I can to keep it interesting.
Are you wondering what the Title means? Look it up! Nah, I'll tell you. It means 'Storytime', basically. So this blog will be a mixture of poems or stories, fictional or no. Some mine, some others, if they allow me to post them.
This post is rather vague in meaning. Of course, it makes perfect sense to me, but alas I doubt too many of you (if any) will understand. That's ok. The Butterfly mentioned here is not actually a person. Not yet. If any of you remember it, this post ties in with another post on another blog. Confused yet? Maybe. *shrug*
There is a story that tells of a Butterfly, soft and delicate. This Butterfly was filled with Dreams. As the story goes, the Butterfly stayed safely in its Grove, fluttering gently through the leaves and grass. All its life it stayed in the Grove, never wandering far from the Great Tree that sat in the center.
However, day after day the Butterfly’s Dreams wandered beyond the Grove. Staring up into the sky for hours on end, it would often get lost in thought:
“I envy the clouds…Free and far from the ground…I wonder what it would be like to join them one day…but how could a Butterfly touch the sky, so far away?”
Alone with its Dreams, imagination filled the gaps that the eyes could not see.
“I’ll never see my Dreams if I never touch the sky. High above…just like the clouds.”
Thus, the Butterfly left its Grove one day. Alone and unsure, but determined to touch the sky, it set off on an adventure to find what it did not know. Many days it fluttered, and many nights it forgot sleep. Months stretched into years, and the Butterfly continued alone. Eventually, though, the Butterfly learned to touch what could not be reached, to see what could not be found. Over mountains, and through woods. Under the deeps, and through the sky, the Butterfly continued searching.
As the time drew on and on, the Butterfly became weak. Its wings tired of years of searching, and its heart yearning for something it didn’t know. Reaching its end, the Butterfly fluttered down to the ground and tried to keep from closing it’s eyes.
Slowly the Butterfly’s breathing slowed…its heart beat softly, and its eyes heavy. Just before it slid into death’s sleep, it heard a voice nearby that kissed its ears and soothed its weary wings.
“My…are you ok, little Butterfly?” It said.
The Butterfly glanced up to see the source of the voice. There, just in front of it, was something that it had never seen before, but had heard about. The Butterfly was able to manage a question to the stranger:
Are you a Koi?”