Butterflies, Milkweed, and Miracles

 

A milkweed grew up in our front yard, right in front of the house, and it came up as a volunteer. Milkweed, I learned, is the only host plant for Monarch butterflies. Its blooms are various colors, but the ones in our yard were orange, and hungry caterpillars swarmed about it to eat and be satisfied, although it seemed as though their tummies were never full. These colorful, striped worms nibbled away at all the foliage and stripped the plant of its greenery. By the time they finished, only the stems remained.

Pretty Songs and Unsung Authors

I lead a chapter of Virginia Writers Club, and I try to dispense positive words in a monthly newsletter. Here is a portion of a recent one:

First, some thoughts:

Music had been playing on the radio in my kitchen for an hour or two. When I turned the dial to off, I wondered how I could listen to the radio for an hour or two and never hear a pretty song. I mean, a really pretty song.

More than once, when watching the American Idol TV show, I asked the one sitting next to me, "Why can't somebody sing a pretty song?" The lyrics were often repetitive and meaningless.

I mentioned this musical disappointment to a friend, and as I lamented, the thought occurred to me that maybe all the pretty songs had already been written. Could that be possible? Are all the pretty songs already written? I shudder to think it is true, just as I shudder at the notion that all the good books are already written, but a newsletter writer I subscribe to suggested that revelation. He stated there is nothing new to say and everything has already been said.