My element, astrologically, is earth, bestowed upon me by virtue of my September birthday. As such, I am characterized as being rigid and fixed. Stable. Easily confined. And my home, circumstantially, is the desert, though neither the realities of my birth nor my geography accurately define me. Water is my true element. It rules my liquescent heart.
I nurture, in the midst of my arid surroundings, a modest patch of garden, lush and green, where I grow flowers and a few tomatoes. At the edge of this garden abides the crowning glory of my self-made oasis, a small stone fountain, able to charm heat wilted birds and insects alike with the promise of rejuvenation.
This morning I discovered a drowned butterfly in my fountain, its wings unfurled on the liquid surface as though embracing the final spilled moments of its life. I cradled its sodden body in my hands, cautioning myself again what an all consuming thirst for water will do, if I let it.