A butterfly landed on the walkway near my front door yesterday. It seemed an odd place to stop. There had been some rain just shortly before. The pavement was damp, and there was little sun to warm him. It couldn’t have been a comfortable place to rest, I thought, and I sensed that the butterfly was nearing death.
His delicate wings were stunning, and he displayed them so proudly for two hours before he folded them forever. I picked up his lifeless body gently and moved him off the walkway and into the garden. Within hours, ants began moving him away, tugging him to their underground home. I don’t like to think of them devouring him. I hope instead that they chose to make a pair of curtains from his gorgeous wings, or used them as a fancy tablecloth for their queen.
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