144
R. Barrett and P. P. Delsanto
brave little butterfly, it fought valiantly, flapping its blue wings
in a frenzy of frustration and indignation. “Why now? What
could possibly be the purpose of such a short life?” were its
dying thoughts.
However, if it could have foreseen the consequences of that
afternoon, the Morpho might have railed less at the injustice
of fate. Some natural systems are so delicately poised that a
minute perturbation to one small component of them can start a
cycle of ever-increasing changes, until the consequences become
devastating [2]. In this instance, the death throes of the beautiful insect triggered tiny air currents that, ever so marginally,
perturbed the finely-balanced prevailing meteorological conditions. Winds changed their directions slightly, isobaric weather
patterns around the earth were influenced, and inexorably the
conditions began to form for the development of a prodigious
tempest in an altogether different part of the world.
The effects extended as far as Foxhill, a hamlet south of
Nelson in the north of New Zealand’s South Island, where a
clap of thunder shattered the late evening tranquillity. Martha
Rutherford raced to the linen cupboard to haul out an armful
of bedsheets. She signalled to her daughters to help her, and
before long all mirrors in the house had been safely shrouded
against lightning, as was the custom of the time in a thunderstorm. The boys closed the curtains on the windows, and
securely stowed silverware and other metallic objects in drawers
and cupboards. There was little prospect of further sleep, as the
violent electrical discharges gathered in fury outside.
Martha hated storms, but her husband, James, pooh-poohed
her, and led his large family, or those who were not too afraid,
out onto the verandah to watch the fiery display, and listen to
the sounds of the tempest. James was a Scottish wheelwright
who had immigrated with his family to New Zealand in 1842.
He was a man with an interest in nature, and he demonstrated
to Ernest, his nine-year-old son, how to estimate the distance to
the lightning strikes by counting the seconds between each flash
and the following thunderclap. He explained the difference
between sheet lightning, fork lighting and ball lightning.
Before long, the flashes and thunderclaps became simultaneous. A fork of lightning struck a tree in a neighbouring
field and drove the livestock into a panic. They careered madly
R. Barrett and P. P. Delsanto
brave little butterfly, it fought valiantly, flapping its blue wings
in a frenzy of frustration and indignation. “Why now? What
could possibly be the purpose of such a short life?” were its
dying thoughts.
However, if it could have foreseen the consequences of that
afternoon, the Morpho might have railed less at the injustice
of fate. Some natural systems are so delicately poised that a
minute perturbation to one small component of them can start a
cycle of ever-increasing changes, until the consequences become
devastating [2]. In this instance, the death throes of the beautiful insect triggered tiny air currents that, ever so marginally,
perturbed the finely-balanced prevailing meteorological conditions. Winds changed their directions slightly, isobaric weather
patterns around the earth were influenced, and inexorably the
conditions began to form for the development of a prodigious
tempest in an altogether different part of the world.
The effects extended as far as Foxhill, a hamlet south of
Nelson in the north of New Zealand’s South Island, where a
clap of thunder shattered the late evening tranquillity. Martha
Rutherford raced to the linen cupboard to haul out an armful
of bedsheets. She signalled to her daughters to help her, and
before long all mirrors in the house had been safely shrouded
against lightning, as was the custom of the time in a thunderstorm. The boys closed the curtains on the windows, and
securely stowed silverware and other metallic objects in drawers
and cupboards. There was little prospect of further sleep, as the
violent electrical discharges gathered in fury outside.
Martha hated storms, but her husband, James, pooh-poohed
her, and led his large family, or those who were not too afraid,
out onto the verandah to watch the fiery display, and listen to
the sounds of the tempest. James was a Scottish wheelwright
who had immigrated with his family to New Zealand in 1842.
He was a man with an interest in nature, and he demonstrated
to Ernest, his nine-year-old son, how to estimate the distance to
the lightning strikes by counting the seconds between each flash
and the following thunderclap. He explained the difference
between sheet lightning, fork lighting and ball lightning.
Before long, the flashes and thunderclaps became simultaneous. A fork of lightning struck a tree in a neighbouring
field and drove the livestock into a panic. They careered madly