They Return

The monarchs are returning. Last week, there was one. This week- three. The ground is graced with their playful, drifting shadows. They bask in the sunlight, flutter in the breeze, drift like glorious, living leaves.

They come back every autumn, traveling hundreds of miles, born in the mountains and returning mysteriously, year after year, to the land of their grandparents.

Three generations have passed since they left last spring. What if we measured our days in a butterfly's lifespan?

How do they know where to go? What guides them? They must go, they will go. The butterflies know, we merely wonder.

It is our gift. We can stand in awe, watching them gather, dripping from branches, orange and black wings radiant in the sunlight. They bring us peace, tranquility. What do we have to offer? This incredible journey, this struggle and sacrifice. This survival. This victory.

We stand witness to an incredible world.

The monarchs are returning. Let us celebrate.

Here they will rest. Here they will wait out the storms and the cold. Where do butterflies go in the rain?

Here they will create new life. Here they will die. And in the spring, when the snow begins to melt, their children will leave, called back to the mountains.

And we will wait for their return.