By Mary Friedel-Hunt
In August, I was at my ophthalmologist’s office in the Chicago suburbs waiting for a checkup following the previous week’s surgery. I went out to the lobby, a three-story glass-enclosed space, and saw a lovely monarch butterfly flitting around, obviously trying to get outside. People looked, some smiled, and all moved on. I could hardly tolerate the thought of this beautiful creature dying a slow death inside a building.
I watched and waited hoping it would light within reach.