The time of Hitchcock…

The butterflies are migrating. I know that sounds beautiful and majestic, and it’s difficult to articulate just how not beautiful or majestic it is.

Yes, they fill the sky with their luminous, iridescent wings.

Yes, it’s a surreal spectacle of glorious Nature.

It’s also completely terrifying when the little bastards are covering your windshield as you – by necessity, since I wouldn’t have gone outside of my own volition – whiz down the highway at 75 miles per hour, putting yourself and everyone else in jeopardy due to heinously poor visibility. I did actually have to slow down and find a gas station where I could scrape off my windshield before continuing on my way, because insect-gunk and wings would have caused an accident, I am certain.

And I feel horribly cynical and jaded, now, for being unable to appreciate something as amazing as a sky filled with millions of butterflies, but it was just so very reminiscent of The Birds … with a few obvious differences. If butterflies were big enough to crack a windshield, I would have given up completely and stayed indoors until the danger had passed.

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