Butterfly

Dennis saw this Monarch as he was leaving for the grocery store the other night. He was surprised that it was still hanging out on the tarp covering our sailboat, and rushed to get his camera. He managed to get a decent picture of it, and figured the recent cold weather had made it sluggish.

Yesterday, Matthew was playing outside doing his little-boy things. Collecting rocks, pretending to mow the lawn, staring at ants. He picked something up from the driveway that looked like a leaf, but was a little too orange.

"Mama! Buh-fly!"

The wings flopped in a way that told me it was dead.

"Oh, honey. Let's put it in the woods."

"Fly! Buh-fly! Go in air!"

He gently launches the butterfly into the air and it sails to the ground. Matthew looks confused and scoops it up again.

"Fly buh-fly. Fly!"

"Sweetheart, it can't fly anymore. The butterfly died."

My sweet son is too young to grasp death, and continues in his quest to get the butterfly to fly once more. I gently take the butterfly from him and try to distract him.

"Go doctor. Fly buh-fly."

"I don't think a doctor can help him, Matt. Let's just put him in the woods."

I placed the butterfly at the edge of the woods and Matt stared at it solemnly.

"Buh-fly no fly. Buh-fly broken."

My heart ached at his delicate grasp on the situation. Luckily the power of his youth didn't allow solemnity for long. He sighed, then turned around and darted off, chasing a leaf skittering across the yard.