Читать книгу Color - Karen Speerstra - Страница 8

Its iridescent wings beat rapidly as if it knew I planned to catch it and keep it in my carefully washed Bonne Maman strawberry jam jar. I balanced the red and white gingham-patterned lid with one hand, planning to quickly screw it on, thus trapping my “beauty.” I had never seen such a rainbow-hued wingspan before. Its silver-tipped wings shed tiny metallic diamond-shaped flakes along with sprays of color every time it beat its wings, more frequently as it sensed my intent.

It wasn’t a dragonfly. Nor was it a butterfly. Instead, it was a magical cross between the two. It fought for its life, this creature from nowhere I’d ever been, from no textbook I’d ever read. Then suddenly I was struck by a horrifying thought. If I lock it up, I will likely destroy it.

Just then, it escaped. Flying away, it looked back at me with large, black, compassionate eyes as if to say, “Did you think you could capture color in a jar?” And I awoke.