It was the weekend. The adjuncts and grads broke free of their work for a little bit and ventured into the steaming sauna of summer. I staggered off with my friend, feeling like a wobbly-legged colt, sticking my nose excitedly into anything. She let me hold onto her shoulder, and we “hiked” a couple of trails. It was great. We hit three different parks that day, including one with a butterfly garden. The butterfly garden was disappointingly barren of butterflies, though, and I’d pretty much given up on getting anything other than … uh, amazing pictures of rocks, trees, creeks, rivers, bridges, mulberry trees, and other such things. Our last stop was an overlook. It proved to be a sliver of a view of a distant river from a solitary bench sitting in the middle of a gently sloping hill of clover. It was quiet and peaceful. And the clover was dancing with silvery checkerspots.