Aug. 10, 2020

A recent jog in Monroe County took me down a country road running through one of the most picturesque valleys in the state and maybe the world. The beautiful, wooded hills of southern Indiana are full of breathtaking vantage points, but this particular valley runs deepest in my heart. I grew up transversing this place by foot, by bike and car.

After returning from dreamlike scenes in Brazil, I came home to run through the Brummett’s Creek valley and was blown away anew by its lushness…the Hoosier Jungle blooming in thick layers under a hazy mist as a rose and orange sunset glowed. Herds of deer observed me rolling through their territory.

The valley uplifts me and I was attempting last week to work through knee pain on a 5-mile walk/run to State Road 46, which marks the southern termination of Brummetts Creek Road.

On the jog, I passed a beautiful butterfly that looked like it had recently been hit. It lay lifeless on the road, but not crushed. Perhaps I could display its beautiful body instead of leaving it to be smeared into the hot asphalt like the snake I found further up the road. As I stepped to scoop it into my hands, it gave a small flutter.

A tenth of a mile down the road, a rumbling pickup truck rounded the corner, heading toward me.

The butterfly lifted itself off the road, but was still dazed and confused and not moving far from the spot where it lifted off. By now, the truck’s occupants realized an unusual lady was in the road. It slowed to a stop as I gave them a wave and managed to herd to butterfly off the road and into the grassy ditch. Two good old boys in the truck humored me pretty well. As they rolled by when I got out of their way, the guy in the passenger side leans out and says, “I like nature too, but….” He gave his head a slight shake and seemed to chuckle as they went on their way.

Then they were off. I completed my jog and in the final stretch found a butterfly who had actually given up the ghost on the driveway. I scooped it up. The beauty of God’s creation glowing in my hand. A vital thread running through life, weaving lives together even as we shed our skins, our shells, or wings. Does a spirit really need anything to fly?