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until she’d found it years and years after her mother’s untimely death, as she searched for herself in a box of mementos.
    I love you very, very much, Halley thought. That doesn’t stop, does it, that love? I’ve got to believe it doesn’t stop.
    She raised her eyes to the butterflies, and found her anger was spent, as if it had spread out among the rocks and the water, had lit upon the wings of the butterflies and been lifted away.
    But the grief remained.
    She watched the butterflies, feeling heavy and unable to move.
    Some of them were at rest on the river stones, while others flew gently above. Some landed for only a moment, and others stayed for a long, long time. Like souls, living different length lifetimes. As if earth and heaven were that close, that one could simply alight from a stone and flutter above. And land, and flutter, and land. Could the difference between living and dying be so simple, so free of pain? Could death be nothing but a lifting off, a fluttering above?
    Maybe they are right here with me. We love you, very, very much.
    Standing on the stone bridge, she slowly un-wrapped her arms, suddenly conscious of the way she had been holding herself together. She placed warm palms onto the cool wooden railing of the bridge. Here, I leave my grief. She felt it flow from the cavities of her heart, down the blood vessels in her arms, into her long fingertips, and from there, into the railing of the bridge. From the bridge, it ran into the landscape, which was surely large enough to hold it. She let her hands drop to her sides.
    She stood still a long moment, thinking and then rested her hands again on the bridge rail. “And here, I also pick up my joy.” This time she closed her eyes, and let joy and life pulse through her.
    After a long moment of silence, she opened her eyes. The butterflies were still flying, but they were bluer than before. She allowed herself a small smile.
    The pools of water below the butterflies looked cool and inviting, a welcome contrast to the heat of her tears. She took a deep breath, and bent down to the nearest pool. It was invigorating to splash her face and arms with water. The dirt that had caked on her slid off in long white lines. She drank deeply.
    She was about to break into a run again, but she paused. Mom and Dad would have told me to take care of myself out here . She filled her canteen, capping it carefully. T here, that will get me a little way at least. She began to run again, feeling stronger and better fueled.
    The black edging of the butterflies had soaked up much of her grief; their soothing, ethereal blue wings stayed with her, and lifted her as she ran.
    Gradually, the dirt of the path changed from brown to a warm, brick red. It was studded with rocks, perfect for dancing along at a fast pace. When the path turned uphill, she slowed to a jog. Ferns unrolled long fronds into the moist air. Large leaves shaped like elephant ears were abundant. The solitude was up-lifting. She’d often wanted to run through the woods alone, but had always been afraid. Once, she’d seen a tall woman on a trail like this, running fast, with an air of confidence, of fearlessness. A golden aura protected that woman, an aura of the woman’s own making. Halley’s eyes had followed her as she moved off. She longed to be that free.
    And now…now she was! She laughed with delight, and continued to run until her need to run was satisfied.
    When she finally slowed to a walk, her pulse dropped quickly and her breathing began to quiet. The trail continued. The leaves crunched under her boots like old friends.
    I haven’t felt this way in so long. It’s like I’ve returned to my body, after being away for a very long time.
    The woods now seemed reassuring and welcoming. It was a glorious moment. She breathed deeply of it, drawing it in. The urge to turn back was gone. She stayed with this feeling, feeling its foreignness, embracing it. It had to do with releasing her anger and her