Butterflies

I came down a mountain once ending up in front of a dark tunnel going through a ridge, a tunnel with no sidewalk such that it would have been easy for a car to smear you against the tunnel wall; I wanted to walk through because the greenery in the bright sunlight on the far end looked alluring. A car came, and I tried to run back, but I had walked too far in, and there was no way I would make it out before the car overtook me. I prayed it wouldn't hit me, and a moment after I opened my eyes, I was surrounded by several white moths or butterflies fluttering all about me. I say moths because I think that's what they were, but they were not shabby in the way that word suggests. I'm sure it's just a coincidence.

Last month, getting onboard my connecting train through the narrow train door, I had been feeling kind of like my stress was too much. There were dozens of people on the platform getting on, too, and as many people already in their seats inside the railroad car. As I plopped down in my seat, with all those people in all that enclosed, air-conditioned space, a white moth flew over and fluttered around my seat, finally settling on the seatback in front of me. I think this is also a coincidence.

This week, also feeling stressed out, while walking through the middle of Penn Station, inside and underground, in the middle of New York City, a dark butterfly fluttered directly in front of me, inches from me. 

Today while driving home, a butterfly flew directly in front of the truck. 

If you look for signs, you will find what fits your preconceptions. Still, these felt otherworldly, in an indeterminate way.