Mizzle And Mariposa

I went for the most glorious ride today. It was cool outside, between 65 and 70 degrees, and overcast; I simply couldn’t resist. Besides, I was looking for an excuse to wear my new cycling kit. After the mile ride to the gate, I was warmed up for my trek to the “Y”, where FM 2722 and FM 3169 intersect. A few minutes into my ride, it began to rain. Not too hard, just enough to put a smile on my face. The ethereal hills rolled past me; their cloaks of mist inducing memories of England. Images of lush green hills draped with fog filled my head. Drops of water continued to touch and trickle down my face as I pedaled up and down the winding road, energizing, refreshing, motivating, and encouraging me. I watched the pavement turn a darker hue as the water accumulated, noticing objects on the road like sticks and rocks, and how they seemed to appear prettier when wet; more like decoration than debris. Then my eyes latched onto something more beautiful – a dead butterfly, perfectly lain on the shoulder of the road. I slowed down as I rode by to get a better look. Black wings filled in with orange. It was so lovely; I felt as if someone had given it to me as a gift. I looked up to see where I was in the course of my ride, so I might remember it later. I made it to the “Y” and pulled into a small lot for a short break, about 20 seconds or so, and drank some water. I remounted and proceeded to cross over to the other side of the road, with several passers-by looking at me and no doubt wondering why I was riding in such weather! This half of the ride entailed slightly more coasting and less pedaling, so I attempted to take advantage of it by soaking up everything I saw. Again, I found myself examining the pavement in search of more treasures, when I spotted it – another black and orange butterfly. I wondered if this was really happening; what are the odds of seeing two identical butterflies on a bike ride, in the same position, on opposite sides of the road? Then I looked up and realized, it was this precise part of the road, on the other side, on which I saw the first one; they were across the road from each other! It was magical and it was all I could do to keep from grinning from ear to ear the rest of the way home. I wondered about the butterflies. Did they know each other? How did they die? And how did they come to rest in such a peculiar, similar manner? I will never know the answers to these questions, but there is still pleasure in asking them.