“The butterfly counts not months but moments, and has time enough.”
― Rabindranath Tagore
Diary entry day 1:
After a long season of arduous work, it is finally time to balance the scales.
I have found a most pleasing piece of real estate for my hibernation.
This year I chose not to go where the other butterflies go. It’s getting too crowded in that old ramshackle barn, there are far too many other butterflies using it, not to mention the mosquitoes, bees, wasps, and hornets, spiders and an assortment of scurrying things. It’s also rather draughty and dusty, not a good combination. My wings… oh, dear… I don’t want to have to clean them the way that I did last year, rain showers are not good for them!
I shall spend the night here to decide if my choice is going to be a permanent Winter residence.
“Float like a butterfly, sting like a bee.”
― Muhammad Ali
Diary entry day 2:
I had a rather restful sleep, which bodes well for the longer one that I can feel coming closer. It’s almost that time…
This new location for hibernation is fairly uninhabited.
The humans who built it don’t seem to bother with it, which means they won’t bother me.
“We kill all the caterpillars, then complain there are no butterflies.”
― John Marsden
Diary entry day 125:
Was disturbed from the deepest of sleeps and sweetest of dreams by a human taking pictures of me. With a flash. A FLASH! Really… I don’t know how anything survives in a world infested by such creatures! Do they not understand the importance and the rules of hibernation. Don’t they ever hibernate!?!
I suppose it could be worse, I heard through the butterfly psychic grapevine that this particular human wreaked havoc in the barn, and forced several soundly sleeping butterflies to waste valuable energy flapping around on the coldest of days. One of our kindred was lost to the eternal rest because of this… or perhaps it had already gone there. It happens. They say it is a reward for a life well spent, but frankly you’re just spent after living such a life.
Now that the human has gone I shall return to my business of staying in stasis until it is time to spread my wings and drink the nectar of pretty things.
“and when all the wars are over, a butterfly will still be beautiful.”
― Ruskin Bond