Nineteen Butterflies and A Squirrel

        Driving across Jack Mountain the ten miles from my house to the next town over the other day, I suddenly became aware of an abundance of butterflies.  Being the kind of woman I am, I began to count them.  For those of you interested in such things, I counted nineteen -- some with blue-black wings, some small translucent white, but most bright yellow.
        Oh, and there was one squirrel in the road.  I think he was the same one I saw the day before.
        The sheer abundance of the beauty of the butterflies is what captivated me.  Flapping their wings or soaring on the breeze, they're just magic.  I wish I had the talent of a Romantic poet like Keats to tell you of the dance of the butterflies.  I wish I had the observing eye of the naturalist to tell you what kind they were.
        Even though I am sure the butterflies were not thinking of such things, I can tell you how glad I am to live in this place, where not only are there butterflies, but there are people who take in the news of their presence with the same attention usually given to the arrival of a dignitary from a far away land.
        So as members of Congress stood to give applause to the President of Israel, instead of spending my day wondering why they don't invite the leadership of the Palestinians to come and speak, I marveled that my friends at the lunch table greeted my news about the butterflies with amazed "Really"'s?
        When butterflies and squirrels come to town . . . now that's news!