What shall I do tomorrow?

I have crawled inside volcanoes, immersed myself in lava, and felt heat so hot it melted my ancestors’ bones. I have napped atop fluffy clouds high in the sky. I have worn red to pet bulls named Willard. I have discussed politics with ogres over coffee and beignets. I have surfed lakes with frogs on lily pads.

I spent today riding a butterfly’s wing. I perched cross-legged on a black dot on an azure blue wing that glowed in the sun, a speck so tiny the butterfly didn’t even know I was there. I managed to hang on through the movement of the butterfly’s wings.

A dog snapped at us. We narrowly avoided getting smashed under a human’s shoe.

We swooped through the air, riding the wind, soaring up and down. I flung my arms up and grinned at the sun.  I looked in windows as we passed.

A couple kissed, wrapped up in each other’s arms, so that it was impossible to tell where each began.

“I love you,” the man whispered.

In the next window a couple was shouting, enraged, red in the face, their arms flailing wildly.

“I hate you,” the woman screamed.

We joined a brilliantly colored swarm of butterflies on a bus, fluttering around a woman’s head. She kept talking to us. No one else seemed to notice the butterflies. We left the bus at the next stop, gladly escaping back out into the open.

The butterfly hung in the air, seemingly motionless, and I floated on a blue wing in a crystal clear matching sky. The only sound was the flap of the butterfly’s wings and the thud of my heartbeat. Time stuttered to a standstill.

 

The butterfly is gone now. They don’t live long anyway.

What shall I do tomorrow?