A butterfly found its way into the building today. It was injured. Its wings had been folded backwards, accidentally. It was on the ground, slowly flapping, flapping, then fluttered every now and then, frustrated and frightened. I wasn't sure what the more merciful action to take was, pick it up and take it outside, or leave it indoors. I picked it up, it tried to shake itself loose. I placed it in a distant corner, away from the busy feet of everyone. I figured, had I taken it back outside, a young twerp would have planted their foot on top of the lost creature.
It's not like butterflies live that long anyway. And that's another thought for another hour.
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