A cabbage butterfly fluttered into my garage while both overhead doors were open.
“You don’t have many options for
dinner in here,” I told it, “and you’re not beefy enough to cart off any of my
stuff, so you should probably flit back out again.”
Butterflies are notoriously bad
listeners, and this one did not prove an exception. It looped around my
wheelbarrow, then battered about some shelves stacked with plastic bins and
boxes.
After a while, I figured I might do
us both a favor by herding it toward the nearest door. “C’mon, buddy, let’s go
for the big light,” I said, waving my arms as I approached.
But you can’t herd a single butterfly
any better than you can twenty. They do their butterfly stuff and that’s that.
They never fly straight in any direction—only ups, downs, twists, reversals,
and loops. After a little flailing about, like someone half-committed to
karate, I gave up on my butterfly-herding career.
I went back to sorting recyclables.
Somewhere between cans, bottles, and
breaking down cardboard, the cabbage butterfly tumbled back outside without my
notice. I guess I need to stick to shooting cattle with my BB rifle. I know that
works.
—Mitchell Hegman
No comments:
Post a Comment