the butterfly effect

The menagerie in and around Manuel House has grown. The new resident is small and I think a bit confused. It may be a moth but I prefer to think of it as a butterfly. Not just for aesthetic reasons, though it is too pretty to be a moth, but because I've grown fond of it. As such, I hate to think that this small creature is eating my jumpers behind my back. So a butterfly it is.

It's living on the fourth step of the main stairwell. Most of the time it sits still, its wings folded up like a great sail over its torso. This afternoon I spied it walking to and fro with its wings spread, stretching them occasionally. It didn't move from the step. It never even attempted to fly.

This has left me with a small dilemma. Do I take the butterfly and release it back into the wild? It doesn't seem to want to go anywhere. Has it chosen that step to die? I searched the net a bit and nothing online suggested that butterflies favour heinous orange carpets as their final resting place. Is it stuck, or injured? I have no idea. Again, there's little on wiki about it. But I get the feeling it's not long for this world. Fortunately the cats aren't allowed in that area of the house. Bagel's not as picky between moths and butterflies as I am. I check the step on both ascent and decent to make sure I don't squish it.

There's a small chance that before the week is out I'll be posting submission chapters and a precis to one of the world's top publishing companies. The butterfly is spreading its wings and not bothering to fly.

Not me.

Wooden Miracles!

Incredibly Beautiful & Lovely Barmaid: "What are wooden miracles?"
Yours Truly: "What?"
IB&LB: "Wooden miracles? What are they?"
YT: "That says maracas."

Fits of giggles followed. The maracas were for the band of course. Well, the audience really. If it's a band of two and if they're both on guitars or bongos or harmonica, then they can't be playing the maracas can they? Or the tambourine for that matter. So the maracas and the tambourine were shared among the small and enthusiastic audience. I drank sherry and Guinness, banging the tambourine and trying to achieve some sort of rhythm. I boogied. The bar staff boogied. My nachos arrived and the barman took over on the tambourine. I got up and sang. I locked eyes with a pretty girl who danced with abandon. I danced with abandon. The air bounced with tunes and good vibes from good folk. The sherry bottle was finished after the tunes were. The pretty girl with pretty eyes and dancing feet invited me and Broomy back to her flat for a party. We grabbed a bottle of whisky and some beers and accepted the invite.

Not a bad Sunday night really. Wooden miracles indeed.