Written by Sarah Mellinger, Photo by Billings Brett, USFWS

My grandad used to tell me
That freckles were butterfly kisses
And now when I see
Their delicate dance in my garden
I know he’s visiting me.
I see him in my mother’s eyes
As they light up in awe of the world.
I hear him in my brother’s hands
As they pour across the strings.
I feel him in my father’s arms
Strong and steady and true.
And I sense him in my sister’s spirit
Stubborn, yet loyal and free.
His wit is with me everywhere
In all the stories I tell.
As butterflies flit, my heart soars
He’s here and all is well.