![](\"http:\/\/www.7art-screensavers.com\/screens\/3d-amazing-butterfly\/3d-amazing-butterfly-03.jpg\")
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"When I was an infant,
\nButterflies were splotches of motion and color,
\nbut they didn’t get anything but blinks or giggles.<\/p>\n
When I was a boy,
\nButterflies were for girls, except for the ones in ‘Alice in Wonderland’;
\nthose were cool. Bread and butter flies.
\nOh! And the troubadour butterfly from ‘The Last Unicorn’.<\/p>\n
When I was a kid,
\nButterflies became an analogy for life – metamorphosis;
\nugliness in to beauty, death and rebirth, gasoline and tar rings.
\nSometimes, I squashed gypsy moth caterpillars under my sneakers
\nduring the summer infestations. There were always more.<\/p>\n
When I was a youngster,
\nButterflies were things of school projects. Mason jars and maple leaves,
\ncrayola, paper mache, and plastecine told the story
\nof cannibalistic siblings, long flights from Mexico,
\neggs, and the chrysalis vs. the coocoon.
\nIn my head, David Attenborough was always narrating.<\/p>\n
When I was a youth,
\nButterflies were the power of women. Sex and sensuality,
\nin a multicolored whirl of wind and wonder.
\nThe lightest caress of wingtips and lips,
\nthe glitter powder smudge of close embrace..
\nBright colors and soft skin
\nfragility and beauty wrapped in an impermanent shrine.<\/p>\n
Now that I am a man,
\nI realize that Butterflies are dream powdered concentrate
\nof yesterday’s memories, women, and science projects. Their wing beat meter
\nfinds a voice in the words flitting through my head.
\nA field of yellow flowers swaying in the breeze of sun-kissed August afternoon.
\nAugust is when the Monarchs lord over nectar, pollen, and the simple peon Whites,
\nwhile nearby swallows sing dirges and snack prodigiously.
\nI was such a jester then.<\/p>\n
When I have children of my own,
\nButterflies will have a place. They will be laughter and science
\nLast Unicorns and Lewis Carrols,
\nsummer afternoons and songbirds snacking,
\nthere will be no gas or tar rings. Who knows
\nif there will even be any trees for the Gypsies to infest.
\nI hope there are, if not
\nI have no idea what you could substitute.
\nPictures are not worth a thousand words when describing butterflies.<\/p>\n
When I become old
\nI hope there is still a world for Butterflies.
\nThe perfect marriage of adaptive intelligence and seemingly
\nrandom beauty. The specialization makes them valuable
\nbut susceptible to widespread destruction. Perhaps some
\nclever entrepreneur will make mechanical butterflies,
\nto flit about factories with bits and bytes of pollen data.
\nMetallic echoes of one of life’s great wonders.
\nThat will sadden me beyond reason, that techno-origami would somehow
\nsubstitute the breath of a butterfly’s flutter on an infant’s cheek.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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