She ran from the buttercream yellow house, the 

aurora of eclipsed sunlight scintillating its rough edges 

like a halo. Her mother watched from the window, 

the crusted veneer a minor sensation, juxtaposed 

with her weakened heart. Thump. Thump-thump. 

She brushed past the borderline of foliage, into the forest 

where the trees’ whispered, rustled maracas outdid her own 

hurricane of thoughts, tears, and breath. Her stomach 

endured the deepest ache. Another meal skipped. 

One less heartbeat per minute. Thump-thump. 

Her tears mirrored the woman inside. But she would

not know. Too far in the words, encompassed by swaying

branches, crunching leaves. She found a rock on the edge of 

the creek and collapsed, the water caressing her toes. She could 

not even recognize the comfort, something too long forgotten. Thump. 

A shadow flickered on the sunbeam that gleamed before her. 

She raised her head and saw it: a butterfly. An angel 

could not have illustrated more beauty. Sunshine accentuated  

the velvet patterns on its wings. She held out her hand, and it landed, gentle.

If she believed in miracles, one occurred right there, in her palm.