The Butterfly Garden (The Collector, #1)

by Dot Hutchison

“It’s a Western Pine Elfin,”

Mexican Bluewing,”

Let’s call me a shadow child, overlooked rather than broken. I’m the teddy bear gathering dust bunnies under the bed, not the one-legged soldier.”

Yet if hope has flown away in a night, or in a day, or in none, is it therefore the less gone? All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream.

Real butterflies could fly away, out of reach. The Gardener’s Butterflies could only ever fall,

“Not making a choice is a choice. Neutrality is a concept, not a fact. No one actually gets to live their lives that way.”

But each time I saw it, I knew I was in the presence of something extraordinary, something that not everyone found or was capable of recognizing and sustaining.