When you don’t have a sense, there isn’t really anyway to perceive something as beautiful visually. I don’t know what that is. I have no clue why a butterfly is beautiful. Is it? Would I agree with that if I could see? A long time ago, for I’ve been blind longer than I’ve been thinking, I decided that I would judge beauty based on my other perceptions. Like the softness of a flower petal and the sound of opera. Butterflies don’t make noise. They don’t smell like anything particular, at most like a whiff of pollen I would think. I’m not going to taste one. So really, you would think my opinion to be inconclusive. Before you ask, yes, I think they’re beautiful. Not because the feel of their wings or the pitter patter of their little insect feet give me pleasure enough to decide. It’s because when my daughter leans in, all sweet and gentle, and wraps her arms around my neck to press tickling butterfly kisses to my cheeks, my heart sings. So really, if something so amazing can be named for a butterfly, the butterfly must be beautiful.
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