Still She Flies

Drawn from memory: the broken monarch who still flew. Digital drawing by Heather Pilapil

This morning, I walked through my garden with a head full of to-dos—beef jerky in the dehydrator, laundry cycling, dinner ingredients defrosting. Just a typical day in motion. As I passed the milkweed patch, something caught my eye: a monarch butterfly had landed on one of the blooms.

Now, I see monarchs all the time. My yard is filled with them—thanks to the milkweed I’ve planted in the back and the big butterfly bush blooming in the front. They’re regulars in my garden, so much so that I’ve gotten used to them. I usually let them flit by without a second thought, part of the natural background I live with every day.

But not this one.

Something tugged at my attention—just a flicker at the edge of my vision. I turned and looked again. Other monarchs were landing on flowers nearby, but this one… this one was different. I saw what looked like damaged wings, but I couldn’t believe it at first. She opened and closed them once. Then again. The shape wasn’t right. Entire outer edges were gone—shredded, missing, frayed. But it took the third opening for my mind to accept what I was seeing.

photo by Heather Pilapil

And then, just as I tried to capture that familiar flicker—the open-close that butterflies do when they land—she launched into the air.

She flew.

Not with ease, maybe. There was a strange wobble to her movement. But she flew just as fast and just as high as the others, rising into the morning light like she had somewhere to be.

Photo by Heather Pilapil

I stood there, stunned. I felt the tears prick before I understood why. Maybe it’s because I’ve felt like her. Tattered. Frayed. Dragging myself through the world in a body that doesn’t cooperate, with a heart heavy from too many storms.

But I still show up.

I still create.

I still love.

So did she.

She was broken. But still, she flew.

By: Heather Pilapil, with the help of Chat GPT