Читать книгу Shaped by Snow. Defending the Future of Winter онлайн

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I shook its limp body out of the jar once we got home. It was gorgeous, its antennae delicate and curved. Veins of black fanned across thicker spots of yellow like spiderwebs. At the bottom of the wings were little grayish-blue smudges, and two small red dots which I guessed were meant to look like false eyes to distract a would-be predator. I stroked its body with a fingertip. It was so soft. I placed it on the foam board my teacher had given me, using pins to spread its wings to their full extent, and measured it to be larger than my palm. I left it there overnight, letting the body dry out in that position before I’d be able to add it to my growing collection.

I woke up the next morning and went to move it. The butterfly was alive, flapping futilely on the foam board. It had holes in its wings where the pins were still stuck through them, and another pin stuck in its body. My insides burned as I watched its movements. Tears slid down my cheeks as I placed the kill jar over it, making sure it was sealed this time.