Flutter by

They saw a monarch on the pavement, and chased it to the concrete wall. She and her best friend S watched it closely. (She's been telling me she's going to marry him. But they won't have kids.) As usual, they argued. (Lovingly.)

I think it's a boy! "No, it's a girl!" How do you know? "Because it's fancy, like a girl." Let's name it Clare! "No, because Clare could be a girl name or a boy name. Let's give it a just girl name since we know it's a girl." Well, what should we name it? "Let's name it 'E.'" Like me! Yes. "Yeah, like you."



They marveled at its beauty, its delicacy. They pondered its lifespan and migration pattern. They imagined its vista from above.

It fluttered back to the walkway.

There, his brother the toddler and her sister the two-year-old joined in the observational inquiry. Four boisterous children watched its delicate motions with reverence. S held his drawing aloft to encourage it to fly, but it only perched and winked at them.




L broke the quiet spell with an impish tone:

Mama, can I step on the butterfly?