“It is astounding how little the ordinary person notices butterflies” Nabokov.
Ah, a new year yet again draws our thoughts to the future as we step from the shadows of the past, filling us with optimism as we peruse what we want to carry forward and what we want to leave behind.
With each end of year I too make resolutions, but gone are the simple ones involving how I will change this and that about myself (although still there are a few of those, now based more on health than on vanity). No, this year of years what I truly want to do is to notice the butterflies.
I’ve been reading (savoring!) Nabokov this month, the hefty tome gathered of some 50 years of letters he wrote to his wife, Véra. I’ve jotted down from it so many memorable passages, most beginning with the delicious, tender terms with which he addresses his beloved Véra. It’s a love story, sensual and passionate and true. It’s a story of trusting and entrusting and of appreciating, of telling, of the messiness of life yet of its continuum, despite all. And it’s also a story of the ephemera and beauty of life and love, if we only give pause long enough to note and embrace it.
(image by Carl Mydans for Life Magazine – Vladimir Nabokov and his wife Vera chasing butterflies Ithaca, NY September 1958)