When I woke up this morning, the butterfly was still there, sitting on the ceiling.
But when I came home, after work, it wasn’t. It had moved to the wall next to a window. Perfect place to catch it from.
It fluttered in the glass, probably tired and exhausted little thing, but I managed to get a picture before I released it into the warm, sunny July evening. A small tortoiseshell butterfly, it was. It flew, high up above the buildings, toward the milky blue summer sky.
Or, better yet, a well-tended, lush villa garden in Enskede.
Katja Malmborg 