The Special PlaceShe sighed with satisfaction. She’d made it to her special place – her hideaway - without being noticed. She could relax now.
She’d first found this place when she was a child. It had always satisfied her need to escape the mundane trials and tribulations of life. It was magical, in fact – at least in her mind. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and waited.
She could smell the scent of pine, and maybe a hint of the sea. She could hear, if she listened closely, the waves crashing on the rocks and lapping the shore as they moved farther inland. Underlying was the scent of lavender, an old bush – she could remember it as a child, and the jasmine vines that twined their way up the outside trellis. Layered beneath that was the barest scent of the violets that she cultivated, oh so carefully, in pots throughout the house.
She knew her babies… knew just when they needed to be split and moved to new quarters. It was always painful for her. No one wanted to take a knife to someone they loved, but in this case, at least, it was necessary for their survival. She’d remove a leaf, or, in extreme cases, uproot the plant and, with a sharp knife, slice determinedly through the root – separating it cleanly. The leaf she would put in a clear glass filled with water and the barest touch of fertilizer. That would go into a sunny window. It would grow roots and be lovingly transferred to a small pot later in its life. The root pieces would be repotted, in fresh soil, watered in, and set in a shaded South window to get the sun. Shaded so as to not get too much.
But that was there – confined, in the house. In her special place she was free of the confines. Here she could see and feel and smell all of that – the sea, and the flowers, and the earth, but – outside - she had the addition of the butterflies. She loved butterflies. Not only were they beautiful, but she knew that they pollinated many of her favorite flowers. Really, all that is beautiful in nature came down to butterflies. Yes, she knew that bees pollinated her world, as well. But, she was allergic to bees, so preferred to ignore them. Birds helped too. She liked birds. Fed them, even. In the cold months, so they would survive. But they were imperfect. Birds squawked and fought. Lovely as they were, they could be evil with one another. Butterflies were never like that.
Butterflies, (and the occasional moth – she didn’t differentiate, although she knew the differences) were above the squabbles. They simply were, and did their duty to the world without complaint, much as she did. And, in her special space, they came in abundance – she’d seen to that. From the tiny Karner Blue to the mighty Monarch, they came. The California Dog Face, with its bright yellow underskirt beneath its purple-shaded overskirts. The Buckeye, drab brown, with spectacular bars of red and spots that look like nothing, so much as like the irises of an all-seeing eye – the better to fool your predator with. The pale Luna Moth – transparent pink and green. The spectacular Io Moth, looking like nothing so much as an upside-down, miniature, owl. They all came to her special place. They knew her, and better yet, she knew each of them. She reveled in them.
Eyes closed, she ran through the meadow she had created, lovingly, over many years. She breathed deeply of the scents, felt the wings of her beloved butterflies brush against her cheeks, and sighed in contentment.
And then, sighing once more, she opened her eyes - closing the box she was holding. She looked into her lap – at the box she held. She knew all of the specimens pinned to the felt, the moths… the butterflies… the pressed flowers from times gone bye.
She placed the box upon the table from whence she had retrieved it, and began to wheel herself slowly from the room - back to the tumult of the day. To the dining room she went, where she was to eat overcooked vegetables and under-seasoned entrees, listening to repeated orders from the staff, and complaints from her fellow residents. Longing for the day that she could join her real friends, forever, in their shared, special, place.
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