At first Magna thought the beetle was a delicate summer petal resting upon the green, yet then it opened up and flew into the air, from walking to flying in an instant.
As if daydream-conjured, a beetle appeared, her wing-shield a sweet-cherry red.
The beetle was nature's bright confetti, the perfect marriage of beauty and purpose.
The beetle came as if she were the child of poetry and science: beauty and precision.
The beetle was the sort of red cherries are in the late summer, so bright and deep all at once. There it was doing all sorts of things nature needed it to do, those quiet things we never think of, but upon which creation depends. They are little miracles, these insects, they are. I watch it come to the tip of its grassy wand and fly into the heady air. Perhaps all we need is love for this sort of beetle, instead of taking them for granted or buying the sort of toxins that kill them. They are the "Monsters Inc" butterflies and I find them so very beautiful.