A butterfly metamorphosis painting sits on a table at a retreat two weeks ago.
Our retreat leader points it out to me.
My sister talks to mom about flying away like a butterfly.
My dad says the same.
The children talk about butterflies.
It is winter. There is snow on the ground.
Then I see this on the hospice fireplace:
Yup, butterflies everywhere in the middle on winter.
Fly Mama Fly.