I was chasing this blue butterfly down the road when a car came by and clipped me. It was nothing serious, but it angered me and I turned around and cursed the driver who didn’t even slow down to see if I was hurt. Then I returned my attention to the butterfly which was nowhere to be seen. One of the Doubleday girls came running up the street with her toy poodle toward me. I stopped her and asked, “Have you seen a blue butterfly around here?” “It’s down near that birch tree near Grandpa’s,” she said. “Thanks,” I said, and walked briskly toward the tree. It was fluttering from flower to flower in Mr. Doubleday’s extensive garden, a celestial blueness to soothe the weary heart. I didn’t know what I was doing there. I certainly didn’t want to capture it. It was like something I had known in another life, even if it was only in a dream, I wanted to confirm it. I was a blind beggar on the streets of Cordoba when I first saw it, and now, again it was here.