Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?

I feel bad for missing the second wedding party of two friends yesterday but as the artist said to them in an email I had no choice. My next trip grows ever closer and preparations intensify. This morning for example I received four fresh boosters in both arms and as a result feel like Popeye at the moment without the spinach-fed strength. In fact I am walking like a cowboy with motionless arms held either side a few inches from the hips. I have had almost twenty such injections in the past few weeks. This morning, as the needles entered my arms, I glanced at the front page of my accompanying newspaper. Where I am headed was the subject of the front page. My eyes then travelled across the room to the window. The tops of some branches blasted a kind of gorgeous green as the sunlight licked the leaves. It reminded me of one of the pieces the artist has been working on. But my eyes travelled back to the front page again. A journalist also died yesterday. He was found with a bullet in his head. He worked with someone I know. With one of the papers today came the counterpoint of a fold-out guide to the nation's butterflies. What beautiful colours, let alone names. The artist's colours are butterfly colours, which is to say matte-like, accurate, pastel colours. Presently, I am looking at illustrations of a Purple Hairstreak, a Painted Lady, a Small Pearl-bordered Fritillary (Fritillary: what a name), and a Green-veined White. Perhaps, instead of armies, all sides should unleash legions of butterflies on each other instead. Where's the White Admiral (adults often nectar on bramble flowers in clearings with dappled sunlight)?