I was down around the side of the garage the other evening, most likely pursuing something cat-related, when I came upon a butterfly. I think it was a Red Admiral and there are two reasons why I think that. Firstly, it looked like a Red Admiral. Secondly, it’s the only Butterfly name I know.
It can be a
bit dull and damp on the ground down the side of the garage, even at this time
of the year. No place for a Red Admiral, or whatever the hell it was, no place
at all. On closer examination, the butterfly was clearly in a bad way. There
was black on its wing tips and, on one of the wings, the black was extending
downward towards the body. The Butterfly perched on the ground and did not seem
inclined to move at all. I reckoned the cat would have it if I left it there,
so I resolved to move it. But where could I put it?
I picked it
up gently by the black wing tips. It twitched a little but that was all. There
are some plants at the front door, and it’s fairly sheltered from the breeze
there, so I choose a nice white flower and placed the butterfly gently on it.
For a few minutes, I rather naively thought it might find some sustenance in
the depths of the flower, but I quickly realised that was probably an ignorant
rubbish notion on my part. I hit the kitchen and mixed up some water with a lot
of sugar and put some drops of that concoction on the flower beside the
butterfly, who didn’t look at all well.
it. There was little else that I thought I could do. I had a brief and silly
image of me sitting in the vet’s waiting room, in among all the dogs and cats
and birds, all of them hungrily eyeing-up the little blackened insect perched
morosely on my knee. A quick headshake. No, that wasn’t ever going to happen.
I had done
my bit. I moved on.
morning, the butterfly hadn’t moved. The blackness had spread over a much
larger area of both its wings. It sat on the flower, in the same position as I
had left it, the sugar water seemingly untouched. It was clearly dead. I lifted
it off and took it away in case the cat found it, even there, and toyed with
its blackened remains.
That’s the story.
I’m not an
exceptionally good person or an easy touch of a softie or a fool, at least I
don’t think I am. But if I happen upon a situation where I can think I can conceivably
do something to make things a tiny bit better, I will generally try to do it. I
don’t seek those situations out. In fact, I increasingly seek to avoid them. And
the things I do may sound nice in a little anecdote like this one and it may
make people think that I’m some kind of bloody saint or something. But I’m not.
Trust me, I’m definitely not. I’m just a regular Joe and, in a lot of cases, my
paltry efforts prove to be completely ineffectual. Most exercises in kindness
or attempts at repair seems ultimately pointless. Just a waste of time.
not. They’re never really a waste of time. I’ve written something like this
before in these pages, perhaps more than once. It’s a theme I tend to return to
in my head, now and again.
was close to dying when I found it down at the side of the garage, and it was just
as close to dying on the flower when I put it there. The sugar-water thing was far
too little too late, and it was probably completely the wrong approach anyway.
I did no good for that butterfly.
But I did
do some good. I did some good for myself.
By taking a
little action with the butterfly, I reminded myself that I’m a person who cares
about little things, someone who will take a little time to help, if I can. I
reminded myself that, despite some occasional evidence to the contrary, I’m not
such a bad person really. I’m okay. I came away from the whole ‘butterfly thing’
feeling a tiny bit better about myself.
that’s the thing, isn’t it? Anyone who does the occasional ‘good deed’ knows
the dark secret just as well as I do. It isn’t simply about the tiny bit of
good you do or fail to do. It’s about the benefits you reap for yourself by stepping
in and doing it.
actually feel pretty good about your kindness, even when the object of your
kindness doesn't make it.