The adult, he goes on to say, resembles an oval, light-green leaf—and of course I had to go find out just what that means:
Wow. What a difference!
Then just now I noticed a passage by Rebecca Solnit (also on FB) from her book A Field Guide to Getting Lost. The passage she quotes is long, but it ends like this (and yes, does invoke metaphor):
The changes in a butterfly’s life are not always . . . dramatic. The strange resonant word instar describes the stage between two successive molts, for as it grows, a caterpillar, like a snake, . . . splits its skin again and again, each stage an instar. It remains a caterpillar as it goes through these molts, but no longer one in the same skin. There are rituals marking such splits, graduations, indoctrinations, ceremonies of change, though most changes proceed without such clear and encouraging recognition. Instar implies something both celestial and ingrown, something heavenly and disastrous, and perhaps change is commonly like that, a buried star, oscillating between near and far.Already I had been thinking about caterpillars and butterflies and moths, because their metamorphosis is so dramatic. Stumbling on Solnit's quote was coincidence enough, nudging me into pursuing this theme. Here are but four exemplars—of 12,000 moths (nocturnal) and 875 butterflies (diurnal) that flutter throughout North America, or 180,000 species of both worldwide. Because they're beautiful—in both phases of life—and because they go through so much, and yet survive such a short time for all that. (Quotations and information below are from Wikipedia, as well as Butterflies and Moths of North America.)
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| Anise swallowtail, Papilio zelicaon Range (overlapping with the western tiger swallowtail, P. rutulus) extends from British Columbia and Montana south to Baja California, and usually no farther east than New Mexico; its major food sources are members of the carrot family (including fennel) and sometimes citrus "In the first two instars, the caterpillar is dark brown, almost black,with an irregular white band at its middle. After that, it becomes more green at each successive molt until, in the fifth (last) instar, it is predominantly green, with markings in black, orange, and light blue. |
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| Spun glass slug moth, Isochaetes beutenmuelleri Found in the U.S. from New York to Florida and west to Missouri and Mississippi; adults are on wing from June to August; larvae feed on swamp oak |
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| Hickory horned devil, Citheronia regalis A common species in the American Deep South, this is the "largest moth by mass" in North America, with wing spans up to 6.25 inches; larvae feed largely on sweet gum and persimmon, and sumac where those are not available |
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| Cecropia moth (female), Hyalophora cecropia North America's largest native moth, in the silk moth family (Saturnidae); found throughout North America, including north into Canada; the larvae are commonly found on maple trees, but also cherry and birch |
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| Curve-lined owlet moth, Phyprosopus callitrichoides Found from New Hampshire to Florida, west to Montana and Texas, adults are on wing May–August; larvae feed on greenbriar (Smilax) |
Just this little bit of research—all this talk of (multiple!) instars and imagos (the name for the adult form), of feeding as larvae but not feeding as adults in many cases (leading to perhaps a two-week span of existence on the wing)—is inspiring me to learn more about the fascinating creatures' life cycles. (Here's one source. And here's an article titled "What's Really Going On inside a Chrysalis"—fascinating.) And never mind the monarch butterfly's multiple generations in vastly different geographical locations. How do they know how to do it?
And . . . now I might consider the metaphorical aspects of metamorphosis. It's rich in so many ways.
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