I woke up this morning, the thought of writing a paper for my English class hanging over my head like some wispy remnant of last night's dream. In that dream, the paper came due, and I came to class empty handed. When the time to read my paper arrived, I searched for it frantically while an impatient class waited. Being the last person called on; the class would not be adjourned until I finished. When it became obvious that I had no paper to read, the dream class turned on me like a pack of wolves, and I awoke with a start. This nightmare motivated me to put some serious thought into what I should write, so I got out of bed, put on my favorite white robe, grabbed a cigarette, and headed for the front porch.

I sat in the porch swing, looking out over the lawn, and lit my cigarette. I watched it as it slowly burned, thin threads of smoke gently freeing themselves from its tip. I brought the end to my lips, and slowly inhaled the first real drag of the day. I could feel the fine smoke as it gently burned my throat and filled my lungs. I held the smoke there for just a moment, then slowly pushed it out of my chest, watching the billowing cloud it formed in front of me. The morning air was deathly still, the ocean breeze lying in wait somewhere over the Pacific, so my cloud of nicotine just hung innocently in the sunlight, folding over on itself repeatedly as it slowly drifted away. Even though the first days' cigarette relaxed me, it didn't help me clear my mind, and I still felt some anxiety in not being able to come up with a topic for my paper.

I took another hit off the cigarette, and shifted my glance out over the lawn. A shimmering spider's web caught my eye, gently swaying back and forth between the branches of the rose bush that supported it. Suddenly, the web jerked violently, tugging so hard on its small moorings that it shook the branches attached to them. I looked closer, and noticed a butterfly struggling to free itself from the spider's trap. Possessing the soft heart that I do, I extinguished my cigarette, and set off across the lawn to save the unfortunate creature from its inevitable fate.

Approaching the web, I saw no other indication of the spider, so I swiftly scooped the butterfly from the web, and watched it fly across the yard, trailing a small portion of the web behind it like a tiny kite with a broken string. The piece of web proved to be too heavy for the butterfly however, and he only made it a few yards before coming to rest in the soft grass of the yard. I walked over to where it landed, picked it up by its wings, and disconnected the fragment of web from its legs. I released the butterfly into the air, and watched as he flitted away, presumably in search of a flower that would provide him with life giving nectar.

I tightened the belt of my robe, and returned to my place at the porch swing. The longer I sat there, the more I contemplated the metaphor of the butterfly, how it struggled in vain to free itself, the same way my thoughts now struggled against the web that seemed to invade my mind. If I could find a way to free my thoughts, then I would survive another day in class, just like the butterfly would live to find another flower. I went back inside the house, and made myself breakfast. Perhaps while I ate, I might succeed in plucking my mind from the web so that it might be free to find a new flower of inspiration.