One of my earliest memorie are of beautiful black and white marbled butterflies. They would flutter about is a certain magical way. That was my first sense of a deeper appreciation and celebration of life. It saddens me to think that people lose sight of their own marbled butterflies; to no longer want to love life. There's a deep sense of pity, and a harrowing guilt. Where are we while they are in agony? While they're are in pain. It only takes one person to bring them into a field flowers, and yet, we fail. To the few who might see this, please check up on your loved ones. Remind them how beauitiful life can be.