I found this description of a meadow useful, and since it was offered for free if attributed, adapted it for use in the chapter entitled, “Butterflies.”  Essay on Beautiful Meadow.”  How would you improve this adaption?  Leave a comment.

Butterflies

The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.

- Rabindranath Tagore

Universe  7. A field.

When she materialized, Lea found herself looking at thousands of monarch butterflies on trees in a field, and she smiled. “I’ve missed you all,” she unconsciously whispered, more to herself than to the butterflies. The butterflies said nothing.  Her presence, apparently, went completely unnoticed.  The next moment, the butterflies were gone.  Had she dreamed them?

She doubted that she was in Monterrey, the weather was too cool. As a child growing up near Monterrey, California the annual coming of the monarch butterflies thrilled her. Now, that pleasant memory overrode the fear and trepidation that she would normally feel from being transported away from her nurses’ desk to a field in the middle of . . . The middle of who knows where.  The antiseptic smell of a hospital ward was gone.  Realizing that she was wearing the black- leather purse/backpack that she had donned because she was getting ready to go off shift, she took out a pen and diary and started to write.  She wrote slowly and first:  “The stringent smell of antiseptics has been replaced by the sweet smell of a meadow that is perfectly round as if someone had intentionally created the flawless circle, tearing out the trees but leaving non evidence of that violence in the waving grass.”

The speed of her writing increases, it is like she is recording God’s word, acting as a conduit, but she knows that the thoughts she is scribing are uniquely hers, “To the east, there is a stream bubbling quietly. The meadow is so stunning with the sunlight that I can only see through the cracks between the trees over my head. It is beautiful and serene. The trees are so tall that it’s necessary to lie down on the wavy grass just to see the top. I run my hand over the tall wet grass.  It  tickles the tips of my fingers.   The smell of the meadow is fresh and sweet which relaxes me.   There are two huge rocks by a lake suitable to sit on.”

Lea walked over to the rocks.  She sat  down on them, and continued writing, “the rhythm of my footprints started to numb by mind. As I gazed over the magnificent view of the huge valley that lay before me, I can see a beautiful lake that glittered in the sunlight.
At a distance, that only could be seen when I squinted my eyes. I can see a huge, beautiful waterfall that is crashing down into a long river which caused it to make foam.

Above my head, I can hear birds singing happily as they fly to their nests. Slowly, it turned dark until I could not see my hand in front of my face. I lay down on my back, wild flowers all around me as I can see millions of tiny stars in the sky. Tonight the moon is twice the size than I ever seen it before. I can hear owls hooting in the distance. I am relaxed.”

The next morning she awoke, and finished her diary entry, “I fell asleep faster than I thought I would in my beautiful meadow.[1] I thanked God for bringing me here and then, as Lea recalled watching the doctor disappear, pink mist enveloping both him and herself. She thought, ‘What about my family? What about my 2-year old Emily, my husband Robert, my sister Hannah?’

Her mind traveled to the third floor of the South Meadows campus of Reno’s Renown Hospital.  In the distance, she saw a window that looked out on the parking lot that lead to Double R. Bar Street. Doctor Joel Kismentis, was looking straight at her, wondering what was happening to both of them.

Where am I am? What I am doing here? What’s next? The thoughts fluttered through her subconscious, and surfaced in the very front of her brain. It made no sense, so she bent down and she did the only thing she knew to do, “Dear God, Thank you. Thank you for giving me this peace, this serenity.  Thank you for allowing me to recapture the joy, the passion of my childhood.  If only, Dear God, if only you could bring me my Emily, my Robert, my Hannah.  Dear God, with them, I could start over.  Please, Dear God, please.  If you do this for me, I will . . . .” and her prayers were answered. There before her, bewildered were Emily, Robert, Hannah  and strangely enough, Dr. Kismentis.

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Tags: beautiful meadow, butterflies, summer slide prevention, writing challenge