I mentioned butterflies in my Cultures of Life piece below because I've noticed droves upon droves of butterflies this week. When I drive down the street, butterflies careen in front of my windshield, float across the intersections by the dozens. Each time I see one, an endless stream usually follows--sometimes with large gaps of air between them, sometimes a clumped cloud of orange flutter. I thought they were small monarchs, but it turns out they're Painted Ladies; there is a record number of them this year because of the rain. They make me feel like I'm in a Gabriel Garcia Marquez story. Much better than locusts and frogs, I have to say. A happy plague.