…a butterfly appeared in my car. I don’t know if it blew in on the highway, or if it sneaked in while my car was parked in Hartford (I leave the windows cracked because I don’t cherish climbing into an oven).
You can barely see it in the above photograph, nestled there by my computer bag, but that’s pretty much where it rode the entire 40-minute trip home. I had the windows open, but I didn’t want to urge it out for fear it would be smashed by the impact of the wind. And I read somewhere that handling butterflies scrapes important dust off their wings. I have no idea if it was true, but I didn’t want to test that theory.
Maybe you’ve had a butterfly alight in your car as you were driving. I hope so, because it’s hard to describe what it’s like to ride home with one. You feel special. You feel like anything can happen. You wait (in vain, as it turns out) for someone to cue the Disney music.
In fact, I don’t know what music a butterfly would listen to if a butterfly could turn radio or stereo knobs — soft rock? Classical? I left the radio on NPR and tried to pay attention to the road. When I had to slow for two traffic lights, the thing just sat there, opening its wings in slo-mo.
I tried to identify the butterfly using photos I shot once we got home, but I never was able to get a picture of it with open wings. I reached for it, and it rose up, flew a loop around the front seat, and then left out the passenger window, like it had someplace to go.
I hope it makes friends in my neighborhood. Welcome to the shoreline, butterfly.