Fourth Journey Day 114: The Weight of Air
The Spirogyra Butterfly Garden felt like a hidden world in the middle of the city, a quiet refuge where delicate wings flickered like brushstrokes against the green. The paths were shaded, dappled with shifting light as I walked past tropical plants and small waterfalls. I took my time, watching butterflies land on bright flowers, their wings patterned with intricate detail-some like stained glass, others like delicate parchment.
I found a bench near a cluster of bromeliads and began sketching, capturing the interplay of shadow and movement. The contrast between her fleeting presence and the stillness of the garden made me think of moments that exist only in the blink of an eye, yet leave a lasting impression.
A couple of schoolchildren walked by, whispering in awe as they tried to coax a butterfly onto their hands. I smiled at their excitement, remembering my own fascination as a child watching butterflies flutter in botanical gardens.
Before I left, I closed my sketchbook and just sat in the silence, breathing in the scent of damp leaves. The world outside was still there-traffic, voices, movement-but here everything was softened, lighter.
Tomorrow I will move again. But for now, I let this silence settle in.
