Gusts of wind sliced through November's fallen leaves, tossing them into the air to drift back down into new positions on the mosaic of basic browns. For a sadly forlorn butterfly, the winds of a winter storm proved a great hindrance to flight, especially as Jeff hadn't quite mastered his new wings. The fierce breezes raked scales from his wings and threatened to crumple them in their entirety.
To escape the maelstrom, Jeff dropped into a deep brick pit rising from the center of the yard. He recognized the backyard barbecue pit his father had erected from bricks and mortar even as his six spindly limbs clutched at the metal grille that spanned the space between the bricks. As he shivered, he wished the pit held a roaring fire that might warm his severely chilled body.
"I've got to get back inside the house," he realized, and not just to regain access to the Chronivac. "If I stay out here any longer, I'll freeze to death."
Unfortunately, even when the winds subsided, Jeff found his butterfly body stunned into immobility by the plummeting temperatures. He needed nectar, he needed warmth. He looked around the yard, but all the flowers had withered and wilted in the onslaught of the freezing conditions. A glance skyward saw only leaden clouds without a hint of the obscured sun.