Tuesday, August 24, 2010

Death By Tongue Lashing

The day after the butterflies hatched. They waffled back and forth from tree to ground to tree. Mom says they look drunk, and I bet they are. I would be if I'd just dug my way out of a cocoon. Blue and brown and bright, bright yellow. This one is the only one that would stay still for me--which is lucky since Spittle loves to lick insects, a loving habit if so many didn't end up dead by tongue lashing.

1 comment:

  1. I do hope you are writing a book, dear Amelia.

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