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2025 Writing Contest
TRAVEL AND FOOD FIRST PLACE
2025 Writing Contest

The Miracle Monarchs of Michoacan

Neil McKinnon
I shiver involuntarily in the warm sun as the spirits of millions of dead Aztec warriors silently surround me, teasing my face with the gentle brush of their passing. In the quiet mountain glade only a faint murmur hints at their descent— a brief, near imperceptible flutter against the background rustle of a mid-afternoon breeze inspiring tremors in lofty pines.
Their presence intimidates me. I think of generations ritually sacrificed who now, brilliantly garbed in their dazzling war robes, are returning to earth to sip nectar from the depths of radiant flowers— placed there by the gods so that the souls of these long-ago warriors can once again repeat the cycle of life to death and back again to life.
Here, at 3050 metres, near the village of El Rosario, in the high mountains of Michoacan in West Mexico, all is plausible. The pre-Hispanic belief in butterflies as the spirits of departed heroes makes complete sense, as does the Aztec cosmology that associates butterflies with fire and movement— perfect proxies for the sun.
We have come here to witness one of the great miracles of the world: the annual gathering of Monarch butterflies before the spring start of their 2,500 mile trip to Canada and the northeastern United States. Now, with the sun ' s rays intercepted at all angles by millions of fluttering orange and black wings, we stand wrapped in a warm, hypnotic kaleidoscope of criss-crossing shadows, immersed in the dizzying wonder of the annual spectacle.
For three to four months each winter the Monarchs cling to every grey-green branch in these mountains. The trees bend under the masses clustered in near-hibernation, bowing in homage to their burden of butterflies. In somnambulant stupor they wait for the spring sun, showing only their drab underside to the world.
Then the vernal rays penetrate the forest crown. The lifeless aggregate starts to quiver.
Shrugging off camouflage shrouds, millions of dormant butterflies begin to absorb the energy of Aztec souls through their solar panel wings. A random fluttering begins. Soon fire from the
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