To see a world in a grain of sand
And heaven in a wild flower
To hold infinity in the palm of your hand
And eternity in an hour
William Blake

Each of us settled into his own thoughts and tried to comprehend the Disney-like surroundings of this enchanted Oyamel fir forest. Butterflies were everywhere, the world drenched as far as an eye could see. In a state of semidormancy they festooned branches, shingled trunks, and carpeted the ground in quivering multitudes. Others, waking from winter's sleep, filled the air with clouds of black and orange confeti, sparkling like stained glass in shafts of sunlight, shimmering across the azure sky. A more religious person would call this place, and this moment, holy, or blessed. I could not agree more.

Memories piled up one on top of the other, but one stands out. I will never forget the sound of monarchs in flight. Yes, the sound of butterfly wings, a muffled tap-tap, like some faraway evolutionary drumbeat. It happened in Fantasyland, when I held infinity in the palm of my hand.