Grounded

Every year in April for as long as I have lived here, these butterflies return to the exact same spot by the creek and gather, sucking something, I'm guessing algae, out of the sand.  Being an especially delicate creature in human hands, it is surprising to see them crawling over one another and crowded so close together. When I think of butterflies I think of flowers and little girls and whimsey, I was shocked the first time I discovered them down at this particularly smelly and dank place that only gets water when it rains heavily, fluttering and pulsating in the mud.