Afterward, they joined others from the diner, walking a narrow path between houses and businesses, skirting under two freeways, a long line of happy people trekking westward. They arrived at the entrance to El Dorado Nature Center just as the sun peeked over the eastern ridge.
The world exploded in a rainbow of colors.
Migrating monarch butterflies occasionally used the preserve as a waystation on their annual migration from the Mexican highlands to California’s Central Coast. Recently they had skipped an entire decade, and people had assumed it was over, just another nearly forgotten California legend.
But this year they had returned. When daylight warmed their wings, they rose in a silent thunderclap of color. Thousands upon thousands of them. Billowing rainbows that serrated the rising sun.
Tessa, her brother’s momentary flame, shed her years and reserve. She shrieked with unbridled delight. She danced with abandon. She sang a lilting melody, so captivated by the moment that Kari doubted the young woman was even aware of the music she added to the moment. Or how people turned and smiled and clapped in time to her antics.
The butterflies seemed to be attracted to her joy. They settled on her hair, her face, her arms.
Tessa froze, captured by the feather brushes. Tears streamed down her face. Kari watched as the brilliant creatures extended their proboscises and drank her tears like nectar.
When it was over and they were driving home, Kari watched from her position in the back seat as Tessa said, “I will remember this forever.” When Justin glanced over and smiled, the young woman remained solemn, almost sad. She went on, “I can never see you again.”
Kari sketched the woman’s outstretched arms, the momentary ecstasy, the joy that had infected everyone around them. Even her avaricious brother. As she rendered the memory on the canvas, she felt the art schools’ painful rejection crowding in. But she was well armed now. Both by her creative fire and the almost forgotten young woman’s joy.
What was wrong with wanting to fill cracks in the world with hope? Or love? Or joy? Why shouldn’t she use these as the themes for her life’s work? Why couldn’t an artist reveal her innermost self and become lost to the glory of momentary abandon? This was what Kari loved most about her work. A dropping of defenses, a release of all barriers. Finding a temporary center point of joy. Sharing it with the world.
