I saw a monarch butterfly on the gravel of a shooting range. It’s wings were broken and it lay there under a bed of rocks on a hot sunny day. It jolted and fretted every time the pistol went off. And when the gunshots rang they would break a hole on the surface of the air. I couldn’t help but worry for this tiny insect. So, I picked it up and carried it over to the quiet green shade far from the shooting range.