On a sweet autumn day, on a holy hill, butterflies flickered over the chamisa bushes. Dozens of butterflies, where yesterday there had been only a few. Dancing in pairs, twirling alone, they graced the invisible air, their antics more and more ecstatic as they clutched each other, drifted apart, and grappled with new partners. My daughter and I tuned our ears to their fluttering. Laughing, we rose off our feet, held up by unexpected joy and the lightness of the butterflies. We were in New Mexico.