I Killed a Butterfly

I was zipping along to church this Sunday at 80 mph. At one point, I saw a bright yellow and black butterfly headed my way. I couldn't avoid it, so it splattered all over my windshield -- the part right in front of my eyes. It was more sad than gross. And I thought about how interesting that is. Bugs fly at my windshield all the time, and I don't feel sorry for most of them. But a butterfly is, afterall, a bug. So why did I care?

Butterflies just don't seem like bugs, do they? They represent rebirth and delicacy. They're the kind of pretty little things children's book authors write about. They're symbols of peace and gentleness and spirituality. People pay to see hundreds of butterflies in gardens. What's the deal?

I dunno. There's not much to this post. I just think it's interesting that some animals are revered more than others. And a day later, I'm still thinking of that little butterfly that died on my windshield.