Color In Hand

This is a picture of my Dad holding a butterfly on the trip to Brasstown Bald.

There's a little story behind it, as well. The temperature that day was very, very cold and being on top of a mountain, the wind was blowing quite a bit which made it even colder. This butterfly wasn't moving at all when we saw him on the trail. It was in the shade and was just lying on the dead leaves on the ground. My Dad gently picked it up and put in in his hand. I snapped this picture and then we placed it on a rock in the sun hoping that maybe it would warm up enough (if it was even still alive) to fly down to a lower elevation.

We left it there and continued on the trail up the mountain. When we came back down, we looked on the rock to see if it was still there...and it was gone.

So, I like to think that this little butterfly that was facing sure death (had we not happened upon it) was lucky enough to be warmed up on that rock in the sun and mustered up the energy to fly away.

I'll never know for sure...and it's pretty trivial...but I like to think that's what happened, anyway.