I was in the butterfly house at the Chicago Botanic Garden, taking a picture, when this butterfly landed on the hand I was using to hold my lens. I rotated my wrist, slowly.
And there it stayed.
It looked at me and I looked at it. I managed to snap a number of photos as it lingered there, unperturbed, resting on my hand.
I’m not sure why it landed on me. Truth be told, I’d had a rather, well, sweet brunch, and maybe it sensed the sugar that was likely radiating from my pores. Maybe I seemed like a handy (get it?! HANDY?) perch, there in the middle of the path.
I’ll never know.
I’m not good at reading the minds of butterflies. I’m not sure if anyone is. I’m not sure if butterflies have minds. This one certainly looked like it was thinking.
Since they only live about two weeks, that butterfly spent a good chunk of its life on my hand. Like a long vacation to Handsville. Or that time it went to Handia to find itself.
Whichever it was, like any good vacationer, it posed for photos at the tourist attractions and then flew off again for home.
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