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Byline: Aranya Jain

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Butterflies

I was eight, on the farm in India, catching butterflies. The pastel powder of their wings crumbled onto our fingers as we held them shut. We’d lift them up for examination, watch them wriggle, realize they were nothing but glorified ants, lose interest, forget we had lost interest and try to catch another one.

by Aranya Jain on December 6, 2012March 22, 2013


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