Every day this week, we have taken a drive around sunset. Early yesterday evening, we found ourselves on the gravel road near our home that leads to the river.
The road makes a hard right and winds around a bit. About a half a mile down is an old, ratty cement bridge.
It is perched above a creek bed that’s almost always dry. A glance to the right reveals gravel. Same to the left, well except for one deep hole.
If you catch the light just right, it’s good for seeing a reflection of the trees and sky.
So, like usual, we stopped to look, then continued on our way.
About 20 feet later, I spotted some gorgeous wildflowers in the ditch and I could not pass them by!
I put the truck in park, made my way over to them, and started taking pictures.
Then, I saw it.
Like the worn cement bridge, this fella has maybe seen better days. The edges of his wings seemed weathered, his colors were definitely faded.
Instead of black and a vibrant blue, he was more of a matted, deep sort of gray. The wing tips looked like he’d spent a lifetime in storms, fighting unbearable winds.
I’ve got to be honest here, he was probably the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen.
You know those old fashioned quilts that have frayed edges and are covered in patches?
The kind that as soon as you pick them up, you can feel a life well lived and love oozing out of them?
That was him. Happiness with wings.
I’d love to say he noticed me, but I doubt he did. He was too busy having a snack and enjoying an evening among those yellow petaled beauties, bathed in grace, yet tattered.