my daughter called me away from my writing desk to tell me dad had found a black swallowtail with a broken wing.
i searched out this little beauty, and sure enough, there it was, trying to unfurl frozen wings. it appeared he was born in a gale. and he was. the winds are strong today. around 30mph. a mild texas breeze. but for butterflies, deadly.
this swallowtail's right wing is permanently blown over his left, and neither is fully unfurled. he looks rag (which is old in lepidopterist speak). so i picked him up and put him on my chest. the resting grounds for all way ward butterflies.
he wandered up to my shoulder, down my arm. i kept returning him to the landing zone and he keeps climbing up, wondering, perhaps, why he is making so little progress.
tell me about it,i say
as i watch him begin the ascent again.
if i let him off my shirt, he tumbles feet over wing and flails. it is better for him to find his rest on me. his little hooked feet latching into my shirt. my daughter took a picture, but i can't find the picture loady thingy, so you can't see him. he is delicately beautiful, as are all butterflies, even the striken ones.
i am reminded of the passage in pilgrim at tinker creek that talks about the gypsy moth kept in a mason jar until it hatched and its wings froze to its back. that little moth hiked down the driveway of the school and out of sight to die.
this little beauty would likely hike off into oblivion if i would let him. but i won't. i will keep him with me until at last he is still. i've tried giving him sugar water, but he is so messed up, he can't even get his bearings and falls right into the water and fails around some more.
my daughter is very sad about all of this, but it is another lesson in all things must die. all things. even you and me. i hope when my time comes, someone gathers me up and stays with me. that they will assuage my doubts and fears, and hold me until i move into shadow. yes, that is my hope.
i've dying grace to tend to.
fare thee well.
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