I’m sitting outside visiting with my daughter. She points out the white butterfly.
“Yeah, I’ve been seeing a white butterfly every single time I come outside for a while now. If I’m outside five minutes, I see him.”
“Is it the same one?” she wants to know.
“Sometimes I see a few together, so I’m figuring not. Just every time I go outside, I see the same kind of tiny, white butterfly. So I kind of think of him as being the same one.”
“It’s a sign, Mom! It’s a sign! It’s a sign!” she chirps.
I’m amused without letting on–because there was a day she would have made fun of me for saying what she just said, even though she was maybe joking. Kind of, anyway. 60% joke, or maybe it’s 40% joke.
“What do they mean?” she asks.
“What do you mean, you don’t know?!? Look that shit up in a dream dictionary! It’s a sign, you need to find out what it means.”
“Butterflies have lots of meanings. Usually related to transformation. But I don’t know about white. Someone did tell me, sometimes it’s someone who’s passed.”
“It’s a sign, figure it out.” She must get her bossiness from her father.
I’m still seeing them. And no, I haven’t figured out what he’s trying to tell me. But I don’t mind all all. I enjoy seeing him. A friendly sign, for sure!
Do you get signs?