It's supposed to be a morning walk but with the puppy along it turns into an inventory, her second visit to Solstice Canyon and not a leaf or twig or tree or stone or shrub that isn't infinitely interesting.
So Walt and I slow down, visuals giving way to what you hear (the creek, the parrots, something large moving through the underbrush) and smell (drying sage) and feel (the breeze, so sweet, that breeze) while standing still. Until, inching along, we come upon the butterfly, just one, resting.
A painted lady? Beautiful.