The butterfly lands on her shoulder. She tells me that each summer it comes to her.
Standing on the rickety pourch off the back of the worn, run down old house and looking at the beauty she creates in her often discouraging world.
I cannot say do butterfly's live long?

I now realize it was not an indivdual butterfly but the belief that loved souls departed often come to comfort in butterfly form.

She has always had a different look on live's.
She is sure this is not her first. Her pet chicken is busy in the small yard.
This yard is carved out of what appears to have been someones junk yard.
Old pieces of wood and cars are turned into fences so that a patch of grass can survive.
This little oasi's is inviting so has kids of every size and coloring are swarming over the edges. Some boys to grown to swarm are lounging around pretending not to be aware of our conversation.

This life is filled with contention and bad health. She has eleven kids, Of course her health is bad.

She is an artist, her particular talent is painting (when her eyes let her).
She uses any type of paint avaliable. When your entire life has been scraping by with everything, you find ways to do your art. Art is a complusion.

Rocks, All sizes shapes. Her imagination see's them and what is inside.
She creates animals, castles with princesse's along with cars, airplanes or insect's, of course butterflies.
Often nail polish is her finishing tool, sparkly and plain.
Nail polish is also what help's her teach groups of grand-kids to paint their own rocks. Nail polish is small, spills are quickly fixed and nail polish is also easy to find.
Rock's are not all she paints, she has created paintings for years.

She grows everything better than I can, she seem's to compell plants to grow.
No she lets them do as they will, this freedom lets them thrive.

When she has her bad times, with headaches she talk's of her "Last Life".
She has always shed away from sharp objects, knives sizzors etc. As sistors I know it started in her beginning.

Last Life: She talks of darkness and chilling winds, clutching her long dark cloak around her she looks down, she is on a high cliff.
She is running she must escape someone is after her she thinks she has escaped then he grabs her. He is a roman guard he has been sent by his overseer. she struggles but cannot break away. He uses a sharp dagger, stabbing her.
She feels falling ;She dies.
At one point my sister accepted a reading from someone, it was taped and I was told it told an haunting story.

I did not listen or even see well at the times I had with her. These times were filled with problems and contention.
Our visits were far between but wonderful moments.

We showed off babies and above all if any of the ten of us got together there was a lot of laughter and good food.
We always carried on multiple conversations, loud and spirattic never loosing track of each, joining and adding without loosing the vein.

This caused much confusion for others around us. Men just being exposed To us especially.

My big sister April Dawn, died a few years ago she was under 60 yrs old.
She got cancer, she fought it going long ways to recieve medical Chemo.
Actually when she died she was cancer free, but her body was depleated of what she needed to fight infections. She had always experienced reactions to even tape used on her.

What was remarkable in her and I admired so much was that everything was an adventure. she enjoyed the people she spent time with during kemo the places she saw traveling and everything involved.
she did not complain at living in so much poverty or never having much money. even when deathly ill she showed excitement at life around her.

She was a timid beautiful child, when we were growing up as her little sister I felt the need most of the time to defend her, except from me.
I was mean but in atleast two ways she defeated me. She could out box me without effort and her backward whistle was much better than mine.

I go back to our childhood. we were moved into a new better home, electricity had come to the town. april and I were responsible for doing the never ending wash. We pulled the old wringer washer on to the back pourch.
She being the oldest prepared to plug it in, There was a trick to this, the plug was two sets of wires each needing to be inserted into two outlet openings.
She was attempting this; something went wrong and I watched her with a flash of electricity being thrown 10 feet. she recovered but for me there was all my life a fear of being shocked.