Herrada y Arroyo
By Allison Demming
At Herrada, monarchs stream down from the mountain to drink from puddles and seeps.
The cars slow down for them, the busses creep, and everyone exclaims in joy.
Walking among the flurry of orange, children must be comforted,
Encouraged not to swat them away when the little beauties flutter around their faces.
And then we notice that there are two winds in the forest;
The soft sloughing high in the pines,
And the papery gusts so small.
No one could hear the wind of one butterfly's wings,
But here in the arroyo the flapping of thousands
Plays like a miniature orchestra in the cathedral of trees.
