Sally knew the path, her memory hadn"t failed her. The sweet, slightly sickly scent of decaying leaves and pollen met her with each step as she made her way along the woods’ obscure pathway. Behind, her sisters were running to catch up, their voices breathless as they called for her to slow down, Audrey swearing at the top of her lungs with each sentence.
Sally heard them, but her feet wouldn"t obey. They kept on, tread after tread as if the whole world would stop existing if she halted for even a moment.
The woods truly were beautiful at this time of year. She"d missed them. The overhanging limbs of the oaks that she had to duck under, purple thistles reaching up to her thigh and everywhere, butterflies.
It is said that butterflies are the souls of the dead watching over us.
It is sai
