He was so beautiful! I saw him on the sidewalk, crawling on the concrete, little legs barely moving, and wings slowly opening and closing in the late, warm afternoon sun. I’d seen so many butterflies for the last several weeks, and many of them flying recklessly to their death, that at first, I thought he was just one more on his way out. But he caught my eye, and I was instantly struck by the colors on his wings. In circles on the backs of his wings - circles which, to his predators, look like big eyes - were pink and blue! On an otherwise plain brown butterfly. Not like the average butterfly I’d been seeing around town for the past weeks. The more I looked at him, the more intricate designs and stunning beauty I saw. I set down my belongings to cup my hands around him, give him some shade, and just admire his beauty. I also said a prayer that he would magically get up and fly away, though I kind of knew better. I couldn’t bear to walk away and leave him there to die, or worse, get stepped on. So I gently lifted him when he walked onto my finger, and set him on my blouse, where he sat easily and held tightly all the way through the parking lot to my car, then all the way home in the car. At home, I set him on the sofa, where he continued to move a bit, weakly, with wings mostly closed. I figured he was slowly dying, and I just sat and watched him for a long time.
This morning, he was still in the same place, and when I touched him, he moved ever so slightly. Still kickin’. What a tough one! I left him alone and went about my day, not sure why I had brought him home or what I was going to do with him.
This afternoon, I was pretty sure he was finally dead, as he was very still, with no leg movements or wing movements. But when I went to pick up his tiny body, his legs were stuck in the sofa fabric. Maybe he wasn’t dead! I left him there, and said a prayer over him. A prayer of peace, and gratitude that I had gotten to see him. His wings were folded shut, which bummed me out, because they were so beautiful when they were opened. But I left them alone, figuring it was a Nature thing that happened when a butterfly died. I remember years ago when I found a dead dove, and its wings were precisely and delicately wrapped around itself, as though in protection and love. Like it had provided its own ceremonial shroud; one of a most tender and precious embrace.
As I look at him now, I feel an intense and unexplainable connection to him, an immense appreciation for his presence, and a sense that something much bigger is watching over me, giving me wings that, when needed, will unfurl and carry me where I need to go, in beauty and in grace, in love and in magic!
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