Having made a concerted effort to take Thoreau's words to heart, I noticed something unusual one day as I made my way across campus. Surrounded by the concrete and limestone that define our daily surroundings, I observed a single monarch butterfly, a perfect specimen, floating silently in the breeze. How out of context, I thought, this little piece of nature fluttering before me. This creature belongs in a forest or a meadow surrounded by trees and flowers, not in an urban wonderland dodging cars and bicycles. A sudden thought occurred to me as I continued on my way, the butterfly still within sight: This butterfly doesn't even know what it is missing; it was born among sidewalks and parking meters and has never seen a meadow or pasture. This idea struck me as strangely philosophical, like a proverb that might somehow reflect on our relationship as humans with nature and the world that surrounds us. Then I did a little bit of research on the monarch butterfly.

Strikingly, the monarch is the only species of butterfly that embarks on a transcontinental migration twice a year. Though they are generally short-lived creatures, the generations that undergo metamorphosis near the end of the summer have a much longer existence but carry a much heavier burden as well.

This particular butterfly may well have begun his life in southern Canada, only to spend it in constant travel to the Sierra Madre Mountains of central Mexico. If this is the case, then he has probably seen things in his short existence that I have never seen in the twenty-one years I have lived. As I found this idea greatly intriguing, I have taken it upon myself to write the story of this butterfly.

The Monarch chrysalis is one of nature's most beautiful creations. This butterfly wears a crown of gold on jade green	About 24 hours before the emergence of the adult butterfly, the chrysalis becomes completely transparent, revealing the new butterfly inside.
Breaking free of the chrysalis, a Monarch greets the world	After struggling free of the chrysalis, the Monarch immediately begins to inflate its wings with a reservoir of fluid contained in its swollen abdomen.
As the wings inflate, the body of the butterfly attains its normal proportions. When the wings are fully inflated, the insect expels any excess fluid and rests	In a few hours, with its wings dried and hardened,the Monarch will take wing on its first flight.

Songs of the Butterfly

I am born. I was once born in another form, but today I appear again in all my glory. In vibrant color, I emerge from my chrysalis like a rainbow following a storm. I have but little time to enjoy my new existence; for though the weather is warm, I have been born with a mission that I must fulfill. I have no choice. In the great plains of Ontario, I feast upon milkweed and nectar, gaining my strength for the marathon journey to come. I have nine months to live and much to do while I exist. By the end of August, like the others around me, I know it is time for me to depart. I head south on a journey I have never taken before, but I know the way. The sun, along with the combined knowledge of all those who have made this odyssey before me, guides me to my destination. With the life-giving energy of the sun and the magnetic field of the earth to guide me, I make my way on a journey of near-impossible scope.

I travel around the vast Great Lakes, over sandy beaches and rocky alcoves and into the United States. In the meadows of the Great Plains, I partake of milkweed as I travel. In Minnesota, I cross the great Mississippi River, now keeping it to my left as I travel southward. Through the sunny skies of Iowa, past the Elephant Rocks of Missouri, across the magical Flint Hills of Kansas, and over water as blue as the sky in Oklahoma I continue my journey, stopping only occasionally to replenish my sustenance. In Texas, I travel through spacious ranches and along rural roads, eventually making my way to Austin. Dodging cars and sidestepping large buildings, I come across you, and our paths cross momentarily. In an instant, I am gone, still continuing south with no idea what influence our meeting has had upon you. It is now nearly October, and though the weather is still warm, I cannot rest. I still have far to go.

I cross the flat grasslands and scrubby fields of south Texas to the Great River, el Rio Grande. The ground here is dry, parched. There is little sustenance to be found. I fly near the coast, over the foothills of the Sierra Madre. Though I have never been here before, I know that I am almost home.

Finally, after nearly four months, I reach the temperate mountains of the Sierra Madre. Here, protected from the cold winter of Canada and North America, I spend my winter. Hundreds of millions of others like myself take refuge here. Just like me, they come here seeking refuge. Just like me, they will never return home. We roost together, like shingles on a roof, congregating in such large numbers that we resemble dead leaves on the branches of the tree we populate. Thus we protect ourselves from wind and rain and maintain warmth. We fast on cold days, unable to fly. On warmer days, we venture out to find nectar and water. I begin to feel myself mature. It is a long, quiet winter.

Spring comes. In March, my mission begins again. I must begin the migration back to Canada, though I will not make it there this time. Again, I have no choice. I begin the trek northward with a different calling: I must create a new generation to complete the journey. Yet even these will not complete the journey. The offspring of my offspring will find their way back to Canada, arriving in May or June. South of the Rio Grande, I mate. In Texas, I lay eggs on the leaves of a milkweed plant. I know that my descendants will be well-provided for. My knowledge and the knowledge of those who have come before me are passed on to my offspring. They must continue this journey in my place. My legacy lives on. My mission is complete. I go no further. I cease to exist.