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Mother’s Day in the ButterXy House Sunshine through glass, the Xash of wings, of palpable light, a bright tree unleaWng, the chaos theory butterXy that fans its wings and sends out a tsunami. Fifty years ago, had we been here, we would have been amazed. Today, with our knee braces and hip replacements, our great grandchildren at our sides, we are . . . we are . . . amazed! The Paper Kite, the Small Postman, the Common Blue Morpho, the Clipper, the Common Rose, the Banded Purple Wing, the Erostratus Swallowtail, the Glasswing, the Great Egg Fly. We would like to believe in such transformations, such metamorphoses, our tired DNA changing to make a new species. Unsteady on our feet, legs trembling like wings too heavy to Xy, crippled and misshapen , homely, loud, overweight, we stand: grandmothers, mothers, babies in their prams, so cute, so bright, so clumsy, so grand. 89 ...

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