Butterfly

 

“In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf. One Sunday morning the sun came up and – pop! – out of the egg came a tiny and very hungry caterpillar.” My favorite children’s book begins this way. It tells how the caterpillar eats (and eats and eats), molts into a chrysalis, and then emerges as a butterfly. It’s a lovely metaphor for growth and change, and it’s a miracle. It’s also pretty gruesome. The caterpillar actually DIES. Using enzymes triggered by hormones, it digests itself into a protein-rich goo. Once all the rest of the caterpillar has disintegrated, sleeper cells in the imaginal discs build the goo into a new creature with wings, legs, eyes and antennae. The other day, my three-year-old granddaughter was running from a butterfly, yelling, “Don’t let it BITE me!” I told her butterflies don’t have teeth, and explained the proboscis. Now she runs from butterflies saying, “Don’t let it SUCK me!”