This Sunday, after spending the afternoon watching the Wimbledon final—a match full of nerves, brilliance, and a little heartbreak—I decided I needed air. Something green. Something not involving a tennis ball.
So I wandered out to the front stoop for a quick reset. That’s when I saw it: a butterfly. A real one, I thought. Perfectly still, perched delicately near the stairs, wings outstretched like it had been waiting for me and my camera all along.
Finally! A butterfly willing to pose!
I held my breath, tiptoed one slow step down (as if butterflies care how stealthy we are), and raised my phone, ready for the perfect shot.
And then… deflation. Total comedy.
It wasn’t a butterfly. It was the butterfly. The same weathered metal one that’s been hanging on our “Welcome” sign for the last five years. The one I’ve walked past approximately a thousand times. The one that never flaps, flutters, or flies—because it’s bolted on.
Reader, I took the photo anyway.
Then I sat under our Himalayan birch, laughed at myself for a solid five minutes, and decided this was a story worth documenting.
Turns out, even garden décor can surprise you. Or maybe just remind you that a little fresh air and a good laugh might be exactly what you need after an intense match—and that beauty, real or rusted, is still worth pausing for.
– The Wallflower
Glimmers of The Wallflower 
Leave a comment