Dancing shadows play across the wall, sunlight glints on everything shiny. There are pools of light in dark corners. Outside, white butterflies flutter like floating flowers. Pinned like delicate brooches to the Buddleia blooms they collect the nectar that is their life. The thought crosses my mind, am I collecting nectar, or am I still fluttering around the bush looking for somewhere safe to land?
"Too often we visit the well of divine abundance with a teacup instead of a bucket".- Elinor MacDonald