I cupped the butterfly in my hands–watching its wings gracefully open and close. It’s gossamer sails resembled the stained glass of a country church when the sunlight streams through the kaleidoscope of colors and I oohed and ahhed at its beauty. Gently...
When I was a young woman–still in highschool–a beloved lady in my life accused, “You’re getting to be a fanatic.” I hadn’t joined a group of extremists. I didn’t lock myself to a chainlink fence and protest nuclear...