Functional lecture hall and desks lined up like gravestones without names and a stream of sunlight to distract me that pores over a blue floor, pretty if I deem it to be, azure blue without waves and still it screams practicality and I am here with a yellow notepad and a blue pen and my mind on the beach of yesterday with soft waves coming to me in my head and yet I must concentrate. I cannot. There on the blue sea behind the person who speaks with knowledge is a Tortoiseshell Butterfly edging across the surface like someone with a great weight on her back and with no destination in sight. I watch her without cease. I cannot hear the voice of the person with knowledge and continue to watch the orange red miracle make its way to nowhere. Ahead of her there are combi-ovens and exit doors permanently shut and strange fans that come on and off for no reason and loud voices drifting in from the hall. And yet this tiny creature heavy with effort strives to be somewhere else. I watch her and wonder if I could dare to stand up and cup her into my hand, carry her down the long corridors of lockers and laughing youth and put her into my car and drive her home to my place and gently place her into where the nettles will grow long and tall to guarantee a sting and then place her there, walk away, pleased with myself. But no, I do not. Distraction takes over and I hear the waves and I am asked a question and when I look to check on what nobody else has seen it is no longer there. Surely steel is no comfort for a Tortoiseshell Butterfly - steel is unyielding and cold, nettles sting but stings are better than nothing at all.