I'm sitting in the front of the Shuttle Bus from airport to hotel in San Francisco. I look where he's pointing and see only a conical hill, devoid of bushes and trees, and there are no large animals.
"A wildlife reserve?"
"Shuure! Butterflies. Mission Blues. They only live eight days. Won't see anything now."
"You've got a whole hill for butterflies and they only live eight days?"
"Shuure! They feed on the lupin flowers. Hard to tell the butterflies from the flowers."
I bet it is. Some of the blue spots would dance before your eyes, if your vehicle slowed down enough on this freeway. The hill is already well behind us. Eight days: that would make life rather an urgent matter.