Butterflies

Once, when we were very young, we went out to catch butterflies. Your father had given you a butterfly net for your birthday and the early summer air was warm and full of bugs. We walked down the old dirt road. We hopped the fence, charging into the neighbor’s field. We were infatuated with every flower, with the sun and the clouds and the moon we couldn’t see. 

I held your hand, pulling you towards the open sky. I knew then, as we tumbled upward, that I would never let go. Small children know everything. 

My dear, my darling, there are butterflies all around us. Just close your eyes. Smell the grass.  Picture the moon. And let them come.