Painted Lady

Somewhere out there in the cosmos, I'm a counterbalance to the merchants who are setting out Christmas items before the last Fourth of July fireworks are lit.  I'm woefully trying to play a game of catchup knowing Thursday is Thanksgiving and my mind is still somewhere back in August.

In an attempt to straighten up the house for the holiday, aka tossing, I came across this poor little painted lady that was preserved in between some magazine pages.  My husband had found her in a parking lot and brought her home for me knowing I'd be interested.  At the time a magazine seemed a good place for safekeeping, but now I'm relieved no one outside the family found her flattened between the pages.  Not everyone is enthusiastic about a deceased butterfly at rest in their reading material.

Trying to seriously draw painted ladies as they feed is impossible.  They're like puppies playing all around you--never holding still long enough for you to observe for any length of time, henceforth the camera.  Of all the butterflies, this one tends to be my favorite. They remind me of our children when they used to play dress up--putting together patterns, textures, and colors that should never have worked, but oddly enough did. 

The conditions must have been just right this year, because the garden was teeming with them throughout the summer.  I've always read they don't migrate, but to have twenty in my garden one day, and not a sign or trace of them the next was peculiar. Such a sudden exodus indicated something was afoot. Poking about the Internet the other day, eureka! An article that addresses the mystery.