What can YOU say in six sentences?
A small cereal box sized butterfly glided sharply on the wind without moving her wings, soaring as high as an eight story building with no apparent consideration for other butterflies who seem to obey their nature and stay within a street signs height off the ground. Was this butterfly that pompous, knowing her own beauty would shame any Tiffany lamp into darkness, giving her ego the fuel to fly at such heights? Could it be she was scared stiff as the top of a gift box being blown about uncontrollably and through no fault of her own sent rocketing to new heights of butterflying? Was she imitating the flying pattern of a hawk that she observed clearing a field of small animals? Her chaotic aerodynamic action reminded me of when my father brought me to the beach to watch him fly his hand made box kite that seemed to follow me for thirty yards before crashing into the back of my head like an ironing board with folded steel legs. Whatever the actual reason for this butterfly now being in a maniacal drift, disappearing over the roof of a brownstone building, I imagined in my own conscious story line that she landed gracefully in a garden of sunflowers relieved that her un-natural flight was over.