This is what happens ... a five-star review

Monarch butterfly---currently classified as endangered by the International Union for Conservation of Nature.

I think I'm smart. I think I'm clever. Clearing a path to better enjoy these summer days. I hang a flytrap off a Shepherds hook staked near my potted plants in the back patio where the pugs lounge atop the artificial grass---a section of it dedicated to dog business that I regularly keep clean. The pugs enjoy sunbathing during the late-morning sunshine before the heat of day. A peak time, too, for hummingbirds, butterflies, dragonflies, moths, dreaded clusters of gnats, and those annoying, buzzing musca domestica whose sole purpose is decomposition and so-called waste management.

So, there it is. The sticky, bright colored flytrap. A cylinder tube approximately two inches in diameter, ten inches in length, cupped with a hood at the top and an open basin at the bottom in which, as advised by the directions printed on the box, honey or maple syrup must be added to lure the unsuspecting pests. Done! I chose drippings of honey poured into the bottom cup. Celebrated my cleverness with a sip of my lavender-chamomile tea.

The trap is activated

Day one. A few houseflies and gnats get snagged. Success. I'm very pleased with the outcome. Indeed, the trap does live up to its five-star reviews. I brew another cup of tea. Summer days are magnificent. Perhaps I'll invite my friends over. A casual afternoon outside, enjoying the patio, with Mojitos in hand, exchanging a bit of family gossip, and playing Skyjo to prove our brilliance. Gathering at my place---confirmed.

This is what happens

Day two. Oh, no! Please, please don't let this visual heartache be true. I'm harnessing and leashing the pugs for their mid-morning walk. It's a fine start to the day. Crisp blue sky. Outside temperature clocking in at a very pleasant sixty-eight, creeping towards an overall high of seventy-seven. My plan is to get out and about before high noon. I'm glancing outside, through the glass sliding doors, when I see it. Feel it---a prickling in my heart. I'm horrified. I see two slow beating wings. Four, all together. Two sets patterned, colored a sunset orange, with geometrical dots of white on black. Tiny perfect bubbles edging the tips of their wings. Those four delicate wings, hiccupping. Two Monarch butterflies, their fragile bodies jerking, desperate to free themselves from the weaponized trap.

I hurry outside, hover as close as I can, see their whispering eyes seeing me. I see the details. Their frightened state of uncertainty. Helplessness. Questioning me. Asking. Why, why, why?

There is no separation. No surgical release of their wings, their legs, their bodies from the sticky trap. No denying my responsibility in luring them to the sweet nourishment of honey.

In this flash moment of time---an experience imprinted deep, deep into my mind---I can't help but think, hating myself, of all the subtle beauty in this world that we bend, break, and destroy. We're good at it. A five-star review.

Thank you, friends, for taking a few moments to read my work and accompany me along my journey as a writer. Take care of yourself and the world we share together. Make sure to leave a comment. I always enjoy hearing from you.

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