A Pilgrim in Narnia

robinson-islandEach year my son and I camp on Prince Edward Island’s heavenly north shore. On one of our hike days we scramble down the red clay rocks to the white sand beaches, hopping over huddles of dry moss as we make our way south. When the shore levels out we hike back west into the farmland, walking down what we call “butterfly lane.” It is an old farm road, really two streaks of red hard-packed clay with wildflowers tall enough that they brush along the bottoms of cars and trucks. As we run up the lane, yellow and white butterflies scatter ahead of us like clouds of dust. For a moment, it looks like starlings at dusk, and then the butterflies shoot off in every direction, doing whatever it is butterflies do.

At the end of butterfly lane we cut into an unkempt wood. If we are lucky, we emerg…

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