Almost at the park. On a gravel path now, feeling cool air on the sweaty skin I got pushing the stroller mostly uphill. 

The land at the edge of the path turns sharply down into a ravine here. From where I stand, I can’t see the bottom of the ravine, only the tops of the trees growing below us. 

Son is chugging along the path, pretending to be a train, stirring up dust in his wake. The afternoon light sifted through the trees is golden and the dust in the air gives a sense of magic. 

I see a butterfly, floating through the fairy dust in the air. It’s soaring. I’ve never seen a butterfly soar before. It flutters a bit, here and there, but seems to be more eagle than butterfly. 

I breathe in the moment, the light, the joy of the butterfly, then carry on.

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