
[P] Tend Towards
Butterflies are chaos agents.
With the recent rains lifting the veil of desperation from the dried up streets, the world carries a different atmosphere altogether.
The silence has grown to the sounds of dogs and birds and whispering leaves. Constant car alarms that once were air raid sirens now fade to a secondary source as the blue-chested finches cantillate the joyous trill of spring and the nesting robins croon their birdly hymns.
The budding blossoms paint the scenes with teeming reds and royal purples, baby blues and sweet whites. The painters, those white winged butterflies that flock from golden poppies to lavender ranks.
They're so unlike the bees. The bees are dead.
Bees are patterned and fly systematically. Lack of adaptation was their downfall.
Butterflies, too, are unlike the rainbow-shelled beetles, who crawl - or waltz so happily - among the flowers.
Butterflies don't fly in form like the sparrows, or in order like the bees, or in the natural rhythms of the fireflies.
They fly in the chaotic, unprincipled eddies of the winds, with vectors randomised and limits discontinuous.
There is no social group theory - butterflies live for the joy of spreading winds and floating on flowers swaying in the breeze.
Butterflies don't demise in their rigid systems.
They tend towards absolute chaos.
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