This Medi-tale is inspired and accompanied by a track called The Grace of the Butterfly by the very talented Blossom Violet.
Wednesdays were her only day of respite these days.
With her husband safely deposited at the day centre,
They were a much-needed day just for her.
He hardly recognised her at all now.
Daphne,
Her best friend,
Told her off for spending the morning volunteering in the charity bookshop.
But she loved catching up on the gossip and always came away with a gem of a book.
When the weather permitted,
The books were consumed in the park on the same bench under the same tree.
Even though it was an oak,
She thought of it now as her body tree,
Having read a book about the butter's life underneath it a few months back.
Her current tome was The Life Cycle of Butterflies.
She had been nudged to read more about them,
As,
For the last few Wednesdays,
A purple butterfly had landed on the arm of the bench and sat with her for quite some time.
Just after it arrived back again that day,
She leafed through the book and found out that it was called the Purple Hairstreak Butterfly,
And it laid its eggs in oak trees.
That makes sense,
She whispered under her breath.
A voice in her head appeared,
I'm glad I've finally got your attention.
She looked around,
Startled,
And there was nobody to be seen.
The butterfly landed on her knee,
Flapped its wings slowly to get her attention,
And the voice came back again,
Hello Jenny.
The woman wondered if this was the sign of early-stage dementia,
And asked,
Who are you and how do you know my name?
I saw your name on your necklace and I've been wanting to speak to you for a while,
It flapped.
I could really do with your help.
If this is what happens when you get dementia,
It's kind of fun,
She thought,
So she went with it and said,
Ask away.
Do you know how I got here?
Well it says in this book that you lay your eggs in oak trees like this one.
Is that thing on your lap what you call a book?
Asked the butterfly.
Does it talk to you?
Yes,
And sort of,
She answered.
It says that the caterpillars that emerge from your eggs love oak leaves.
Well I know what my eggs look like as I've just laid them,
And what's a caterpillar?
She opened the book and showed the butterfly a photograph of a purple Hairstreak caterpillar.
Can you see this?
Yes I can,
Let me go and see if I can find one.
The woman was loving this,
As it really did seem like the butterfly was talking to her.
When it came back it said,
Well that looks nothing like me,
No wings and all brown,
Not even a patch of purple.
The woman flipped to the next page of the book and showed the butterfly its pupa form.
If you want weird,
This is the chrysalis where the caterpillar changes into you as a butterfly.
You should find some hanging under the branches.
The butterfly flew off again and came back sounding flabbergasted.
I knew there was a reason I came to sit with you,
So I was both of these wants.
That's right,
The woman said,
It's all in the book.
The butterfly went quiet for a while and flapped its wings just a little.
She could tell it was thinking.
So I was an egg,
A caterpillar and a chrysalis,
Before I spread my wings and laid my own egg,
She said.
Where are you in your life cycle?
This was way deeper than the woman was expecting as a line of thought on a day off,
But she thought about it for a while and said,
Well we only have two phases of our life cycles.
First we grow for a while inside our mother,
And then we develop from a child into an adult like you see me now.
At that very point,
A different and deep sonorous voice appeared in the woman's head.
Are you absolutely sure it's only two phases?
The tree had been patiently listening to their conversation,
But felt it was about time he spoke up.
