My Grandmother would sometimes start a story with, "a funny thing happened..." and it'd be a story about something a little strange that happened, she never really tried to interpret or explain it, she would just accept it for what it was. •
A funny thing happened today, as Moss and I walked over the Red Bog, I thought of Jess, Granny, Dad, the barefoot dream, and the quiet of this place, and then in the breeze, a little white feather floated up, briefly stuck to my jacket and floated off. Looking as it floated off, I spotted this little black butterfly. •
There is much symbolism attached with black butterflies.
Just like my Granny, maybe it's best to just accept it for what it is. She'd love to hear this story, "Isn't that funny" she'd say with a smile. •