
I was only 8 or 9 when I saw the great migration.
I remember walking the dirt roads of the apple orchard with my family
and it looking as though the trees were pulsing and alive.
Instead of green leaves there was a multitude of orange. Monarch butterflies were moving south for winter, taking rest in the land I grew up on in Kansas. All the branches were covered by the travelers and I remember feeling full of wonder.