I don't know anyone who doesn't feel some small spark of delight when a butterfly flutters accross their path. Usually they exclaim "Aaaah look," and watch it until it has flown out of sight. It's something universal; butterflies bring joy and wonder.
Sometimes I find a dead butterfly or moth on the ground, a bit flattened and with tattered wings, and each time, I think about those people who collect them. I can understand wanting to capture their beauty and keeping it there behind glass to admire every time they fancy. But I won't ever be one of those people. I would much rather enjoy them when they are alive; to observe their arial ballet, their dance from blossom to blossom, their sipping of sweet nectar. Right now the fields are full of them. When they dip and shiver over the golden wheat and pea vines, it's hard to tell whether they are loose petals on the wind or living creatures.
They will always be something special, something which signifies the good, the peaceful, and the delicate. The closest to fairies we will probably ever get.
p.s. if you want to see something really trippy, click on the top photo to enlarge, and you will see that this blue speckled beauty has a passenger aboard!