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You can find the current article at its original source at https://www.theguardian.com/environment/2018/feb/08/country-diary-hibernating-peacock-butterfly-wakes-into-living-room-summer
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| Country diary: a peacock butterfly wakes into living room summer | Country diary: a peacock butterfly wakes into living room summer |
| (about 9 hours later) | |
| It is a curious fact that the most beautiful parts of a butterfly are also the least palatable. When I lifted a log from the woodpile, the eye of a peacock in an insect wing beneath looked back. It was a sail without a ship, a cover without a book. The wing was still fired with fresh colours, as lustrous as a birthday balloon and just as nutritious. The thick body that had been provisioned with sweetness to sit out the winter in darkness had gone. | It is a curious fact that the most beautiful parts of a butterfly are also the least palatable. When I lifted a log from the woodpile, the eye of a peacock in an insect wing beneath looked back. It was a sail without a ship, a cover without a book. The wing was still fired with fresh colours, as lustrous as a birthday balloon and just as nutritious. The thick body that had been provisioned with sweetness to sit out the winter in darkness had gone. |
| The day before, another peacock, inadvertently transported indoors in the log basket, was hours away from cremation when it woke into living room summer. I did not see it fly up to the sunlit window but heard a loud thrumming from behind the blind. There it was, improbably animated out of season, bashing its head incessantly against a cold window. How could it understand that the golden orb beyond was a false god, offering only frost and ice? | The day before, another peacock, inadvertently transported indoors in the log basket, was hours away from cremation when it woke into living room summer. I did not see it fly up to the sunlit window but heard a loud thrumming from behind the blind. There it was, improbably animated out of season, bashing its head incessantly against a cold window. How could it understand that the golden orb beyond was a false god, offering only frost and ice? |
| Not wishing to leave it to drain its batteries, I closed my fist over the butterfly, and its wings stopped beating. I popped it into a sealed tub in the chill porch to let it slide back into torpidity. | Not wishing to leave it to drain its batteries, I closed my fist over the butterfly, and its wings stopped beating. I popped it into a sealed tub in the chill porch to let it slide back into torpidity. |
| A few hours later, we had fashioned a hibernaculum, a small open-ended box with cardboard partitions. The butterfly seemed a not unwilling tenant, fingering the wall of its new home with its feet, settling to hold fast with wings clasped shut behind. | A few hours later, we had fashioned a hibernaculum, a small open-ended box with cardboard partitions. The butterfly seemed a not unwilling tenant, fingering the wall of its new home with its feet, settling to hold fast with wings clasped shut behind. |
| There was a shelf in the shed with a space that might have been labelled “reserved for hibernation”. I put the box down and shut the door, but went back to check the next morning. The butterfly was hanging inside, much as I had left it, but I pushed its container gently so that it was lodged safely at the back of the shelf. Not gently enough, for the peacock made a swan-like whooshing sound as it beat its wings in distress. Moments later, all was still again. I closed a door behind me that will stay closed until spring, when I hope the occupant will have disappeared, leaving no wings behind. | There was a shelf in the shed with a space that might have been labelled “reserved for hibernation”. I put the box down and shut the door, but went back to check the next morning. The butterfly was hanging inside, much as I had left it, but I pushed its container gently so that it was lodged safely at the back of the shelf. Not gently enough, for the peacock made a swan-like whooshing sound as it beat its wings in distress. Moments later, all was still again. I closed a door behind me that will stay closed until spring, when I hope the occupant will have disappeared, leaving no wings behind. |