Spring is coming, spring is coming! See? The daffodils have bravely put forth their sunny blooms.
But alas, temperatures in Salem this week have remained chilly to downright freezing.
Sure, the sun itself has timidly peeked through, but sno and sleet mid-week had us asking, “What month is this, anyway?”
**Which brings me to my final guest in this rendition of *Kindling Friendship*. I have deliberately held her to the end, just because of her delightful name, it being so significant to me as a symbol for change, and a signal of hope, transformation, renewal, and yes, even Springtime.
So as Ari barks a cheery response to the doorbell, I eagerly open it wide, and welcome author, Butterfly Thomas.
Me: Greetings, Butterfly, won’t you come in and get warm…brrr, how about a cup of tea or coffee to take the chill off?
Butterfly: Salutations, Joan. I don’t think I’ll have either, maybe just hot water with lemon thank you, and a banana if you have it.
Me: No problem, I’ve got a few beautiful, organically grown bananas right here…shall we stay in the kitchen? Or would you prefer a comfy chair as we chat?
Butterfly: A comfy chair all the way.
Me: Okay…Mmmmm this lemon ginger tea is especially tasty today…so Butterfly, won’t you tell me a little about yourself?
Butterfly: I never really know how to answer this, how much or little to tell. I am in my 30’s, I have 2 children, and I am divorced. I work as a Counselor and Advocate, but I don’t love it as much as I love reading and creative writing. Those are the basics I guess.
Me: And where do you live?
Butterfly: I live in the finicky state of Virginia. I was born in Germany to military parents. We came back to their home state, Virginia, when I was a toddler, and been here ever since.
Me: Is your writing influenced by where you live?
Butterfly: I don’t think so, I think it is influenced greatly by what I’m reading.
Me: And what about your writing process? Can you describe it for me?
Butterfly: Hmm, my writing process? Well I like to write mostly in the early morning hours… I don’t have an inspirational place to right though and I mostly write when the mood hits or when I have a particularly intense emotion I need to express. May I read a poem I wrote almost 3 years ago that explains why I write?
Me: Yes, please do.
Butterfly: It’s called ”Poetry”
Poetry Is A…
Powerful tool that allows me to lament or rejoice
Original works from my heart that urge me to
Express ideas, thoughts, points of view, alternate perspectives that display my Talent for word play and the contentment I get from
Releasing my feelings and emotions in such a way that
You can feel me
Me: Very nice. I especially like the final words, “you can feel me”. I think that says it all…you, the poet, are directly accessible through your words of poetry. Thank you, that was lovely. Now, are you up for a few quirkier questions? What other kind of living thing would you like to be?
Butterfly: Any other living thing, well the butterfly of course because of the natural symbol of transformation and the reason I have my name…Or the black panther, because of its sleek fierce raw power
Me: Do you have a favorite punctuation mark?
Butterfly: My favorite punctuation mark is the comma, because I never know if I’m
using it right lol
Me: And now tell me more about your writing, won’t you?
Butterfly: So far, I have written an urban thriller called Head Held High and I am working on compiling my poetry into a book. I have an idea for an urban fantasy novel, but I am currently attempting to flesh out a short short story I wrote that sparked the idea. You can check out my self-published novel at
And follow me on twitter
Mea: well, thank you so much for chatting with me this afternoon, Butterfly, it has been a delight.
She draws her coat collar up around her ears, we exchange one more hug, and she slips outside into the gathering darkness. A mix of misty rain and light snowflakes moistens my face as I bid her one more good-bye.
Then the door shuts against the weather, against the week’s labors, against all things unessential. Shabbot is at hand.
I find the candlelighter, flick one flame onto its wick, then the second, and ready my thoughts for the blessing. My eyes close automatically as my hands draw candlelight first toward me, then circle it round to embrace loved ones and friends, and finally, the world’s inhabitants.
I sigh. Spring will come, I thought, in fact it is already on its way. In the meantime I will accept the gift of its emissaries—the sprouting of daffodils, and a young woman named Butterfly.
And I whisper:
Blessed are you Beloved One, Source of All, Breath Divine, Whose Light sustains us, Whose Darkness draws us near in longing and anticipation.
And let us say: