The Butterfly







When I was but a child, a butterfly landed on my hand.  I wanted to capture it.  But I knew, if I closed my hand fast enough to snatch it out of the air as it tried to escape, I would utterly smash it.  The important thing, the most important thing still until this very day, is that I let it fly away.  I did not crush the butterfly.

(Not exactly a poem, but not prose either…)


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