Post BCHF2015

Was it about good-byes? Or about the changing world? Or just a capturing of a small moment that brought on a slew of thoughts and ideas and funneled neatly into a singular, bow-tied conclusion? Whatever it was, at least it was fully formed and focused and finished. Fly free, unchained thought, fly free.

FWAP. It’s a tight sound, a thick sound, or at least, tighter and thicker than I thought a knife splitting flesh and bone would be. The chosen slab of meat shifts into chunks of pork ready for cooking and I try to erase the imaginative whisper of blood splattering and parts flying from my mind. The butcher has his tools – big blades, thick blades, skewers, hangers, and one long, thin metal stick sitting on the edge of table. A fly skirts across my attention. Then, another creature. A moth? It flaps its dimly yellow, speckled wings towards the butcher’s counter. Is a bug a nuisance? An infringement on cleanliness? An object to remove? My mind wanders to the array of knives and the precision I suspect the butcher can employ to remove this unlabeled disturbance. I watch as the bug lands on the one long, thin metal sitting on the edge of the butcher’s table and slowly walks along the beam. The butcher becomes still, a stillness that surprises and deems me unable to translate.

“Butterfly,”

he says. And all of a sudden, the creature is a butterfly and sunlight unfolds from its gently sun-kissed wings and the expression on his face is a soft smile, one of wonder and love and admiration for creatures that reminds me that butchers may or may not be killers or cutters but without a doubt they are men with hearts and moments of humanity.

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