Did you know there’s such thing as a wingless butterfly?
No, I’m not talking about a butterfly that had its wings torn off.
On the cold islands of the Southern Ocean, the winds’ force is nearly constant, rushing over the tree-less grasslands, harsh cliff-faces, rolling hills, and stony mountains.
Some birds have adapted wings perfectly shaped to take advantage of the gusts – so perfectly, they have trouble flying when the wind dies down. These birds are also fine-tuned for a life at sea, and can swim and dive and spend long periods of time soaring over the open ocean.
However, for a tiny creature like an insect, getting caught in the wind and carried out to sea is a death sentence. No point in having wide, air-capturing wings to tempt the wind’s malice. So nearly all the bugs on these islands have either no wings, or tiny wings designed only to give them some extra umph when they leap.
And here is where we find butterfly species that have conquered the islands by accepting the loss of their most admired trait: rather than the large, highly-decorated wings we expect from the butterfly family, their wings are non-existent or tiny grey flecks.
This is what brings me to my ‘existential’ query:
Is a butterfly still a butterfly without its wings?
What makes a butterfly a butterfly if not its wings? Scientists can give you their answer – but what is yours?
What about for me? If I never write another story, will I still be me?
What about for you? What do people define you by? Would you still be you without it?
