A blade of grass among many bends at the weight of a resting butterfly. The blade bounces as the butterfly floats away.

It’s wings beat in a steady rhythm through the warm spring air. It hangs low to ground, drifting aimlessly for a while. Then it rises, almost as if to get a better view. But just as quickly as it rose, it falls back to earth, and with a soft approach, lands neatly on a bright daffodil.

It pauses for a moment, completely still on the vibrant yellow petals of the flower. As some figure begins to loom out of its sight, the butterfly relents in its stillness and unfurls its straw-like proboscis. It nourishes itself on the flower’s nectar. It’s eyes are hard and focused. But in a split second moment, it does not see the small chubby hand coming towards it. Not in time, at least, to save itself.

A young girl, little more than two years old, had waddled, then crawled, toward her father’s garden in the backyard, entranced by the fluttering insect. When she got close enough to it, she thought of nothing better than to swat at it. She caught both bug and flower, and with petal and wing mixed together in her hand, she smushed them all up.

She opened her hand curiously, wondering what had happened to the shape of it all. The butterfly’s left wing twitched while the rest of its body, wrapped up in petals, was unmoving. She might’ve cried if it weren’t for how playful she was still feeling. As a smile spread across her face, she put her hand to her mouth and began chewing.

“April!”

Her mother rushed toward her from the patio. Little April’s defiance however, manifested in quickened chewing and a hardy swallow before her mother could get to her. She forced April’s mouth open, but it was mostly empty. Her mother forced her to spit.

“Honey, why would you do that?” April’s mother’s face was all worry. April was more confused than anything, although her mother’s reactions began to make her stir and cry. Her mom sighed, smirked and rolled her eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Just don’t do that again! That’s not food, baby. Okay? Understand?”

April nodded half-heartedly as her eyes wandered toward another fluttering butterfly in the garden. Her mom scooped her up and began a walk toward the house. And as her mom walked, April stared over her shoulder on the rhythmic fluttering of the butterfly she had left in the garden.