There is a tree, quaking aspen, that is named that way because of the way the leaves seem to shake when in even a light breeze.

I imagined the amazing flight of the butterflies I see, seemingly so random, and yet they get to where they want to go. The wounded bird still calling out to its flock, letting them know what happened in bird language. Only have driven on brick streets, a rough ride, but not as rough as I imagine cobblestones.

Ron