So my leap last night, shall be explained as such:
A skittling speeded up motion of a caterpiller on a log. Crimpling around into a cocoon he makes. Brittle edges-but fast remember. It’s all fast, jittery, unanticipated motion.
Then skip to the next part. Where the butterfly begins cracking open the home. Fast, jittery, everywhere motion. A wing,an antenna. A leg. Crackling, big.
And then the whole creature is out, putting legs together and then and then, a slow now, a slow motion burst of angelic, unstable lift. Off the log. A flap of the wings, one, two, up now.
HAAACHA GRUAH CHOMP.
There’s a lizard. And it crushes the first few breaths of that butterfly. Dissolves any notion of living. Any more ideas of flapping and flying and eating and being pretty.
That was my attempt at a leap.
It sucked, it did.
But you know,
that lizard gets a sense of movement beyond him. And he drops himself into a change of colour. Blending and stopping all killing. Instinct to staying alive in the midst of danger.
The butterfly is weak, one leg torn off. A wing crumpled, an antenna bent.
It has wings still. It can fly. It can fly, it can fly.
So push off from almost her death bed, she rises, with a new burst of self.
I will live, I will live, I will leap again she says.
I will leap again.