The butterflies were everything I thought they'd be--and much, much more. It seemed like a great idea to take the grandkids into the Butterfly House, where they'd never been, and let 'em, like us, both educated and delighted by a thousand butterflies and moths flitting all around.
Turns out there's something sort of psychically irregular about living things flitting around your head. Reminds you of bad dreams, or something. I admit it--took me a minute or two to get used to butterflies landing on your head or arm, but once past some initial hesitance, the whole experience was remarkable.
Not so with our grandkids who kept thinking those giant, gorgeous insects were bats or bees or flying spiders. Both of them were scared. I'd say they shook, but the climate-controlled butterfly house holds a temp of somewhere above 80 degrees, with humidity at just about the same level. You can sweat just sitting on a bench.
But, finally, there is something unnatural to it--a couple dozens humanoids walking around in stylized rain forest, a thousand fragile little energized kites in magnificent color fluttering all around, so many you can hardly focus on just one. There's absolutely no reason to be scared, of course, but there is a weird kind of dissonance--like, "this just isn't right" or something.
But they're as beautiful as advertised, these fragile, dusty little bugs with wings made of the most gorgeous wrapping paper. They're stunning, really.
Rained all day, but the clouds broke up by nightfall, so I went out west to see what the sunset was going to bring. Wasn't bad. Wasn't bad at all.
And since grandparents pay in all these doings, let me just see that the butterflies weren't free. The sunset, on the other hand, was there for all the world to see, not that there weren't mosquitoes buzzing around.
I was in an easy chair for the Fourth-of-July fireworks. Heard 'em, but didn't see 'em. But then, maybe I had.