My last recollection of seeing a black butterfly was not long ago.

I remember it was on a particular flower.

I remember it was on a red flower that had just bud after sun rise.

I remember the birds were singing in and out of unison.

I remember the smell of the wet grass.

I remember the color contrast of everything turning to black and white.

And I remember the black butterfly running towards the sunset.

I remember the flower turning from red, to gray, then black.

And I remember it folding in and finally giving way to life.

And when I looked for the black butterfly, it was gone.

I remember my life flashing by the second.

And I remember the seeing and the feeling of losing red flowers.