Words are ephemeral, but beautiful. They are different colors, emerging at different times of day. They can sparkle, like the magic dust that floats free from butterfly wings.
A short story is like a butterfly—ephemeral, faceted, sometimes beautiful, a startling scrap of frivolity. When we watch butterflies, time pauses. When they have flown out of sight, we sigh and get back to what we were doing; but not untouched. The brief flash of butterfly wings uplifts the spirit.
Consider each of these stories as a butterfly. Study it, enjoy the colored scales and the unpredictability of its flight. And when you have finished with it, it will still travel with you in your heart.
Words are ephemeral, but beautiful. They are different colors, emerging at different times of day. They can sparkle, like the magic dust that floats free from butterfly wings.
A short story is like a butterfly—ephemeral, faceted, sometimes beautiful, a startling scrap of frivolity. When we watch butterflies, time pauses. When they have flown out of sight, we sigh and get back to what we were doing; but not untouched. The brief flash of butterfly wings uplifts the spirit.
Consider each of these stories as a butterfly. Study it, enjoy the colored scales and the unpredictability of its flight. And when you have finished with it, it will still travel with you in your heart.