Both of these winged creatures landed here by the lake in Maine today.
This member of an unknown species of butterfly, sadly, will never fly again. I lit a candle for it. It had landed in an enclosed space and could not lift off.
I ask myself, “Which path shall I follow?”
The path of a chance and airless death, beauty frozen in time,
or the steady winged migration of the Great Blue Heron?
I choose the heron’s path.
Liftoff is important.
(Though the butterfly is beautiful.)