If you are not crazy yet, try chasing butterflies.
I am not talking about the sweet Swallowtails.
They soar purposefully in the direction of their destination
then land on a flower and spend hours eating and ignoring everything else.
I am also not referring to the beautiful Buckeyes
who flit like twirly leaves before landing on a sedum to spend the day.
Nor the American Lady which stays put, but seldom opens her wings for a peek at their upper-side colors.
Not the tiny little Gray Hairstreak either, with its tail appendages that move like antennae.
Not even the Cloudless Sulfur that zig zags around and then lands on green things so you can’t find it.
The “pic-tease” of the butterfly world is the Monarch.
It has played my like a paparazzi this week.
On Sunday I quietly stalked it for sometime, then shamelessly ran down the drive after it.
When I finally came to my senses and returned to the house to fold laundry,
it coasted across in front of my bedroom window and looked in.
On Monday I took a photo break to give the neighbor’s dog a bone.
I looked out the front door as I closed it to see the Monarch glide across the porch.
Who’s zoomin’ who?
This game went on for days until finally, it settled itself for a few precious minutes on some garlic blooms.
It stayed just long enough for me to snap a few, not-so-great photos.
I am glad the Monarch is savvy. I fear for its future.
It’s a long way to the forests of central Mexico and much of its forest has been logged or blown down by storms.
I love all butterflies, but the tricky little Monarch has a special place in my paparazzi heart.