They should watch out for you, o eater of insects. One snap of those jaws would take out most of them. But there they go, heading right for you, as if you were no more than a giant rock lying in the grass. They shower you like confetti, and you—not a twitch! Oh, what a sound. What could that gull have seen to make it cry out like that? The butterflies are in the air again, moving off, in the direction of the shore. I want to call your name, but the word dies in my throat. Oh, my friend, my friend!
