When I went down to my wine cellar two days ago, I saw a large butterfly on the floor. “Hey,” I said, “hiding from the rain?” It flexed its wings when I walked by. The wings were upright on my return. When I went to the wine cellar today, I immediately spotted the butterfly. Resting at the same spot, its wings were standing upright, just as they were when I last saw it. “Still hiding, darling?” I said. But when I walked past it, it keeled over in my wake. It was long dead.