The first time I saw Longshot, he, she or it was a caterpillar. The second time I saw Longshot, it was a chrysallis. The third time I saw Longshot was this morning, and he is a butterfly. Sort of.
Proving prescient, the name Longshot is a good one. Unobserved, Longshot fell from its spent chrysallis this morning and lay on its back until discovered. Once righted, he immediately scaled the netting of a habitat I constructed.
Unfortunately, his tightly furled wings relaxed, but did not stretch. As afternoon wears on, I fear those beautiful orange and black wings will not gain their structure or their purpose.
But a butterfly is not merely wings, and Longshot is clearly of good heart and sound legs. His lack of ability reflects lack of opportunity – it is too cold now for Longshot to fly south.
Flowers, warmth, nectar, sunlight and space – these things Longshot will have lifelong, if not the companionship of his kind. Earthbound butterfly, your story is far too familiar.
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