I Know How A Butterfly Feels. Ann Palmer

      I Know How A Butterfly Feels

      Copyright ©2005, 2014 by Ann Palmer

      ISBN-13 978-1-77143-127-9

      Second Edition

      Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

      Palmer, Ann, 1931-, author

      I know how a butterfly feels / by Ann Palmer. – Second edition.

      Issued in electronic format.

      ISBN 978-1-77143-127-9 (pdf)

      Additional cataloguing data available from Library and Archives Canada

      Previously published in print format by Bookman Publishing.

      Extreme care has been taken by the author to ensure that all information presented in this book is accurate and up to date at the time of publishing. Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for any errors or omissions. Additionally, neither is any liability assumed for damages resulting from the use of the information contained herein.

      All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the express written permission from the publisher.

      Publisher:

      CCB Publishing

      British Columbia, Canada

       www.ccbpublishing.com





       Chapter 1



       Arrival in Montana



      Is life’s journey meant to be fantastic travel observing and absorbing the beauty of God’s creation or an adventure of traveling within ourselves? And, why can’t it be both? From our youth, can one’s fairy tale romance become reality? Can one attain a flight of independence and freedom?

      Life’s adventures start at the beginning but this one is starting now and working backwards. Stay with me as I share my adventure in getting here to this beautiful early summer evening in the hills of Montana, where daylight remains until well after 9 P.M. As I sit here reminiscing, I hear the creek rushing by with waters from the melting snow of the nearby mountains. The Aspen trees are now proudly opening their light green leaves – the foreground for the darker green pine trees scattered over the rolling hills. Yellow and purple flowers dot the green fields and along the gravel road that leads to the spot in the road called “Gold Creek” (hard to call it a “village” with only an old tiny post office and a few houses) – the nearby creek is Gold Creek. Everywhere I look, I see a potential painting. Since I arrived, the days have been half filled with rain, even hail. With all the rain, it seems hard to believe that the state has had a drought for several years. By evening the clouds are sparse and range in colors from lavender and white to mauve and pink, layer after layer of rolling hills of many shades of greens. As the sun sinks the nippy cold begins to creep into my 37’ home. As I sit at my computer, I look out upon green grass with large rusty farm rakes, wooden fences, two horses and a barn, a field of gold-green, a layer of beautiful trees, a rolling hillside, then distant layer of trees and more rolling hills. I expected some cool days and nights but never expected to see SNOW
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