When I am quiet I hear the butterflies awakening in my stomach. They flutter softly at first, stretching their wings, and then they speed up, ready to go.
To go where, I wonder. What are they alerting me to this morning?
Perhaps they’re excited to write. Perhaps they understand some of my anxiety for the upcoming week and they flutter in time with my racing thoughts. The ones I acknowledge and set to sail on wish boats of birch bark and moss so that I may remain present in these waning hours of sunshine, blue skies, balsam trees, and bird calls.