Her small form is obscured by the tall grasses and overgrown milkweed. She squats, balanced on her thin legs, tousled blonde hair blowing free and wild with the wind.
“Sarah?” I call, but she stays crouched, low to the ground.
“Sarah!” I call again, and she half-turns, her fat, toddler-cheeks dimpled and delighted.
“Look mama!” she chirps. She lifts her cupped hands high into the air for me to see. I walk closer to crouch beside her, kissing the tangled locks and open brow.
She shrugs me off impatiently. “Look what I got mama!” Tenderly, cautiously, she unclenches her small fist, displaying its contents with glee.
I look down on the crushed legs and beautiful, crumpled wings giving a final fluttering effort.
“A butterfly! How wonderful” I smile and she returns it fully, filled with pink-cheeked childish wonder.