please, step into my cocoon

I know that I am this way, and I won’t ever change. Maybe, though, I will develop, like a caterpillar does into a butterfly through the means of a warm cocoon.

It makes one wonder what the caterpillar thinks about when he is waiting for his transformation. Is he nervous? Is he afraid of the shape of the wings, the colors of them, the strength? Is he trying to imagine the feeling of the wind lifting his glorious wings, his lithe body? What if he is caught in a storm? What will he do then?

But, I imagine, that these worries are more attractive to those less in tune with instinct-like us. I imagine that caterpillars really don’t think about those things during metamorphosis. They sleep. They wait. They trust nature’s unchanging course.

In the same way, I trust that life will guide me into my different cocoons, and play me music whilst I am being worked upon. So that, when I emerge, I will have scarcely noticed the time which has passed, nor the changes which are now so apparent in me.