Butterflies Are Free

As I continued photographing and packing my new owls, I discovered a stained glass butterfly in the trove.  I figure it must've been in the box of owls I bought en masse.  (There were a few stained glass owls in the box.)  It was hard enough resisting the owls I saw on the shelves, but when the man said they had an entire boxful as well, I told him to wrap them up, sight unseen.  Well, my memory is kind of fuzzy about that (succumbing to one's addiction tends to do that to one), but that must've been what happened, as I didn't recognize several of the owls I packed today.

Incidentally, the sheer variety of owls I have purchased during the past three years astounds me.  The concrete one on my porch is two feet tall, but I found two, in my bookcase (which I should perhaps rename the Wolery), which are a smidge smaller than the nail on my little finger.  And don't get me started on the subsets of owls in my collection.  I mean, how many owl bookend pairs could a man possibly need?