Clouded Yellow: We’ve been friends for such a long time, you and me, and now we’re two old codgers sitting close to the fire because we need to keep warm. Do you remember how we used to talk about things that really mattered to us? Those hopes and wishes? How we laughed and wept about our little dramas?

Marbled White: We were so naïve back then. All those dreams and desires we used to share.

CY: Now we’re silent most of the time. We just stare into the fire and sip our wine.

MW: Beyond a certain age, it gets embarrassing. To be so earnest. So we learn to do what everyone does – hide these things away. When I was a child, I spoke like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways.

CY: Do you miss them?

MW: No, they became a burden.

CY: There’s so much I’ll miss. The tang of snow on my skin. Another year’s wisteria tumbling down its branches. The smell of an orange when I cut it.

MW: You won’t be here to miss them. It’s winter now and neither men nor butterflies live beyond the winter.

CY: But I want to cling on. I want so much to cling on.

MW: That’s the siren calling. We all hear it. But we can’t fly at night or survive the winter, no matter how much we want to. We’re creatures of daylight and sunshine.

CY: Yes, I was born to dance. Destined to flit between trees.

MW: And when we can’t dance any longer, it’s time to close our wings. It’s time to go.

CY: I don’t believe you.

MW: Believe me?

CY: That you’re really so nonchalant. So ready to leave it all behind.

MW: Yes, my old friend, you know me so well. What I claim I think isn’t always what I feel. But I must be strong. Learn to forsake it. Right now, in my quiet moments, I imagine I’ll miss it, but one day soon I won’t be here to miss it. I’ll just be gone.

CY: And what about those we love? Those we leave behind or those who leave us?

MW: The fact that we’ll never see them again?

CY: Don’t pretend it doesn’t crack your wings.

MW: It haunts me for sure, when I remember those still dancing, the butterflies still dreaming that they’re people. I can’t imagine life when they’re not here. But I must stay calm and set them free. Yes, I loved them, all my dancing partners, but like me they never really existed. They were shadows skipping between the flowers and there were moments when I was lucky and we skipped together.

CY: It’ll be dark soon. We’ve sat at this fireside so many times and watched the snow turn grey. But then the moon comes up and the winter glistens through the window while the fire crackles and glows. I wish it weren’t all so beautiful.

MW: The way the winter freezes everything, you mean?

CY: As if nothing is ever going to change. The snow is like a dream that wraps us up in its blanket and makes us forget.

MW: Let’s open another bottle of wine, shall we?

CY: For old times’ sake?

MW: For old times’ sake.