So I’m standing out there. Standing in the yard. In the warm sun. Walking around. Looking at the hidden places back there. I’m standing next to Izzy who has let drop her Bison bone and is trotting to the fence to find the Texas walnut that I just tossed in the leaves.
I’m standing there, and this tiny white butterfly alights on a tuft of grass at my feet. It has intricate markings on its wings, but I can’t quite see them. I walk a bit nearer to see, but with my first step the butterfly flutters off.
At first I think I startled it, but it couldn’t have cared less about me. The butterfly was on a mission. It took to the air and flew straight across the yard to the sunny spot in the corner where the fair and industrious Trudy’s native salvias still bloom.
Ten yards.
From that spot on the grass where is landed at my feet, that tiny butterfly with the markings on its wings spotted the purple blossoms ten yards away. And it flew a beeline directly to them.