As I watched these two butterflies in the garden of the house I'm minding, I imagined I was Bobby Helpmann in that movie he was never the romantic lead in, where the choreographer, who loved the woman he loved, quit his show so he'd fail, and Bobby had gone into the garden to weep, or groan, or die, but instead he saw these two butterflies, and was transfixed, and transfigured and inspired! And then there was a MONTAGE of the butterflies, his shining face, rehearsals long into the night, seamstresses making 50s style modern butterfly costumes, scenes from the ballet
Butterfly Battle, rapturous applause, the shining light of love in the prima ballerina's eyes, who had finally seen what a cad the choreographer was, then a sexy clinch during the final curtain-call.
*I* would have gone to see it.
