The Little Warrior and the Butterfly

 I was returning from a bit of a discouraging run on Sunday morning, when I looked down on the ground and noticed a petrified butterfly appearing to be as defeated as me. Symbolic? I quickly noticed that one wing was slightly damaged and the poor little thing was struggling to fly, if not, at least walk away. After a few steps, I felt the need to go back. How many times in your life do you get that upclose to a butterfly? (possibly even save it?)

I tried to scoot it. I nudged it. It's left side was working much better than the
right. It just shivered. "Hmm... what happened to you, dear butterfly? It's doubtful
you got hit by a car," I thought. I carefully picked it up and gently held it all the way home (wee, wee, wee...) .

Joe was on his way to Lowe's. "Can you ask the garden people what type of flowers butterflies like? Then get one?" I casually asked. So here is me asking the guy who has a hissy regarding getting Starbuck's to get an ailing butterfly his last meal. I thought I'd try.

So I got him (or her) home safely. He's/she's been chilling out on the counter, now what? Oh, of course, Pictures!  Grab the boy and take pictures!  So I balance the camera, the butterfly, and the boy out to the swing. I was only able to get one
shot. The battery died in seconds. I felt that I better let the butterfly be, maybe that was an omen. I couldn't leave the butterfly outside, it would get blown away and drown in
the lake and get eaten by fish. So I put it on the window sill in the sunroom. I closed the slider and left him there to pass in peaceful bliss. 

Candida McCray Lionetti