There's a path in between the dunes that I walk every morning to get to the beach. On that path is a dead butterfly.
I shall call him Milagro.
Little Milagro has been there for two weeks (maybe longer). No one steps on him, no one kicks him aside, and, from what I have noticed, people stop for a moment when they see him, then walk around him.
There's is a certain beauty in that. There's also a certain hypocrisy from us as a species in it.
I'll say hi to the dead moth as on my way to the beach.