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December butterfly
I mistook a butterfly for a yellowed bougainvillea leaf. Butterflies are not common in Tucson during the winter. I was cleaning the front porches and didn’t recognize the butterfly as itself until I’d almost swept it into the dustpan. I assumed that I’d killed the insect but noticed as I placed it on a ledge of the wall above the pavement of the porch outside my bedroom that it moved its legs. Then the weather and the shade turned too cool for me to comfortably finish my work by hosing the porches.
I returned today to hose them, having forgotten about the butterfly until I saw it on the pavement of the porch–I’d sprayed it. Inadvertently killing an animal feels utterly miserable, and that’s how I felt. I was like a child scolding herself into tears.
The butterfly’s still brilliantly yellow wings surprised me as I once again picked it up to lay it to rest where I’d left it the day before. I continued hosing and brushing away the water with a broom, now and then looking at the butterfly, feeling both sad and humiliated by my unawareness of it until I’d damaged it. I found myself apologizing to the butterfly and thanking it for its beauty. Before I went indoors I noticed the butterfly stand up. I saw it walk.
Just looked . . . after several hours. Bedroom door open, the butterfly, bright and delicate as a petal and a step away from me, contrasts with the clean red concrete of the porch floor. Maybe the lightest breeze earlier in the day had animated the butterfly, so that I thought it still lived.
Other people might show you a photo. Indeed, I took one before beginning this paragraph. But I deleted the picture from my camera within less than a minute. Beauty can be a peace that asks for privacy.
I think your images are more evocative without the photograph. I imagine the brightest lemon yellow without the image.
I love that you deleted the photo from your camera.
love that sentiment that “beauty can be a peace that asks for privacy.” yes.