This article is from the source 'guardian' and was first published or seen on . It last changed over 40 days ago and won't be checked again for changes.
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
The article has changed 5 times. There is an RSS feed of changes available.
Version 2 | Version 3 |
---|---|
Country diary: a peacock butterfly wakes into living room summer | Country diary: a peacock butterfly wakes into living room summer |
(5 days later) | |
Sandy, Bedfordshire: It should have been hibernating, but there it was, bashing its head against a cold window. Something had to be done | Sandy, Bedfordshire: It should have been hibernating, but there it was, bashing its head against a cold window. Something had to be done |
Derek Niemann | Derek Niemann |
Thu 8 Feb 2018 05.30 GMT | Thu 8 Feb 2018 05.30 GMT |
Last modified on Wed 14 Feb 2018 16.59 GMT | |
Share on Facebook | Share on Facebook |
Share on Twitter | Share on Twitter |
Share via Email | Share via Email |
View more sharing options | View more sharing options |
Share on LinkedIn | Share on LinkedIn |
Share on Pinterest | Share on Pinterest |
Share on Google+ | Share on Google+ |
Share on WhatsApp | Share on WhatsApp |
Share on Messenger | Share on Messenger |
Close | Close |
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. |
Butterflies | Butterflies |
Country diary | Country diary |
Insects | Insects |
Rural affairs | Rural affairs |
Winter | Winter |
Wildlife | Wildlife |
features | features |
Share on Facebook | Share on Facebook |
Share on Twitter | Share on Twitter |
Share via Email | Share via Email |
Share on LinkedIn | Share on LinkedIn |
Share on Pinterest | Share on Pinterest |
Share on Google+ | Share on Google+ |
Share on WhatsApp | Share on WhatsApp |
Share on Messenger | Share on Messenger |
Reuse this content | Reuse this content |