THE BAY OF BUTTERFLIES 273 



mate satisfaction may have been, the attraction 

 was something transcending humidity, aridity, or 

 immediate possibility of attainment. It was a 

 definite cosmic point, a geographical focus, 

 which, to my eyes and understanding, was unrea- 

 sonable, unsuitable, and inexplicable. 



As I watched the restless water and the but- 

 terflies striving to find a way down through it to 

 the only desired patches of sand in the world, 

 there arose a fine, thin humming, seeping up 

 through the very waves, and I knew the singing 

 catfish were following the tide shoreward. And 

 as I considered my vast ignorance of what it all 

 meant, of how little I could ever convey of the 

 significance of the happenings in the Bay of 

 Butterflies, I felt that it would have been far bet- 

 ter for all of my green ink to have trickled down 

 through the grains of sand. 



