Went to the Tucson Botanical Gardens yesterday, where we headed to the butterfly exhibit and my post-book brain soaked in all their lovely lovely shades and shapes, taking in their bulging eyes and and curling probosci as they went after nectar and the bright colors they hide between the duller undersides of their wings like secrets. One species looked very like a leaf with its wings folded up, hanging dead from a branch, with tie-dyed shades of orange and blue hidden within. Butterflies landed on our clothes and hands and others’ as well, and sometimes stayed there for startlingly long times. (And at one point a butterfly landed on the back of someone’s head, and folded up its wings and sat very still, like a sort of living hair clip, which made me very happy for reasons related to Faerie Winter, and so I began taking notes as well. Because our brains are never entirely post-book, not really.)

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