The monarch, big enough to be seen at a distance, is on a dandelion. The air stills and the butterfly takes off. It briefly appears controlled and there seems to be purpose. Even now, in air that is to me unmoving, there are climbs and dips for which I can assign no motive.
The whole flight was a mystery. It pushed steadily to my right then raced to my left, exceptionally fast, climbing as it went. Upon reaching trees, it climbed even more steeply, eventually passing over their tops at 12 m height.
As with poker, how much is choice and how much is chance? As with us?