butterfly attack

Last night’s butterfly attack could not have come at a worse time. It was cold, so butterflies were least expected. It was dark, so I could only make out the silhouettes against the street light. I was distracted by a conversation, so the attack was viciously timed. In the end, though, it was just a single square piece of carton, 3 by 3 inches at most, being propelled by a sudden breeze, tumbling in my direction, and changing its path so erratically that I thought there were at least three. This whole incident sharpened my resolve to be on guard, and renewed the idea to wear protective glasses even outside the butterfly season.

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