An entire gathering of butterflies whirled about, delightfully dancing on the wind. One lone butterfly swooped and fluttered over a white daisy, its feathery wings wafting a light hint of air across the flower. The daisy’s silken petals swayed in the slight flurry that flowed from the tiny, vivid creature, writhing in the wake of the breath. The butterfly’s wings were fine and transparent with intricate designs for which no brush exists skillful enough. They shimmered in the sun’s warm rays and reflected a prism of color much like an miniature, majestic church window. It alighted gracefully, elegantly and rested in the serene silence of its petite, perfect world. Motionless, the butterfly calmly stayed in place as if in some kind of wakeful slumber. Its almost-invisible, minuscule legs seemed as if they were not even touching the flower, but hovering above it. The daisy’s dainty petal was unmoved by the weightlessness of the butterfly’s slender body.
After a while, the butterfly began to flit its wings slowly, almost cautiously, seemingly satisfied with its rest. It floated, levitating agilely over the daisy. The kaleidoscope of hues from its wings reflected on the flower, washing it a faint, sparkling blue, then a dazzling pink, and a twinkling lavender and green. Then, in a gust, the butterfly sailed away. It moved so breathily that the summer breeze appeared to challenge and it swirled up and down and sometimes spiraling backwards, unsure of where to visit next. Finally the butterly came to a spontaneous stop atop a ruddy picnic table. The table was nicely heated from the sun and the butterfly nestled itself against the warmth of the wood, and the promise of peacefulness. Its fragile body was tucked underneath its gorgeous wings and its bitty furry head and antennae hid inside the shade created by them. The beautiful butterfly sat there tranquil and unchanging for several moments and only jerked once when the yellow-headed sewing pin penetrated its thorax. Pierced all the way through, the butterfly was suspended like a diminutive carousel. The boy carried the pinned butterfly with contradictory care and absurd delicacy, noting that the butterfly was as sanguine in death as it was in life.