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PoetryIn-e-Motion

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Poems and short stories ©   by Arno and Anna unless differently stated (Disclaimer).

As a little girl I was fascinated by nature. Still am, and even if I live in an urban milieu, nature never lost its inspiring meaning.

When he was young, my father used to collect butterflies. One day during a visit to my grandfather's farm he took me to his room and showed me his butterfly collection. It was in a violet paper box, a chocolate box, I think. In there he had pinned the butterflies to a surface with long, special needles. The part of me that wanted all under control loved it how neatly the beautiful, colorful butterflies were captured, to look at whenever I wanted. I didn't have to find them first, I could just take the box and open it.

So that day I decided to become a butterfly collector. The last kick I got was when dad gave me the bag net he used to chase and capture butterflies with. I ran into the garden, chasing butterflies, but noticed soon that it was not easy. Dad had told me stories of how he'd captured rare, fast-flying butterflies, and I was enchanted by the challenge.

Finally I had a start to my collection, four beautiful butterflies. Dad had explained to me how he'd bought ether from the pharmacy, drained a piece of cotton with it and put it in a tight-sealed jar along with the butterfly. Slowly they would fall asleep and die. I, however, didn't possess such magical sleeping potion, and so I skipped that part and pinned the butterflies to a piece of wood, alive. I didn't think much of it until dad found them. He was genuinly shocked, asking me how I could do it, what if someone would stick a needle though me right then? Those words struck me hard, and I realized what I'd done. Instead of seeing them as beautiful things to collect, I saw them as living things, equal to myself.

I never touched a single butterfly after that.