We arrived to Santuario Piedra Herrada, after an almost three hour drive from Mexico City. I stretched my legs slowly and breathed in the crisp mountain air. I watched my breath exhale in tiny wisps of white “smoke.” I smiled.

We walked to the base of the mountain, where horses waited for us. José helped me mount Regal, a sweet, sleepy horse, with deep brown pools for eyes. Up the mountain we went in silence, two riders, two horses, two guides leading the way. There is something primal about being in the woods. Not just being outside, but being surrounded by wilderness, the seemingly disorderly arrangement of trees, bushes, flowers. And that’s all that you can see, all around you. It’s as though nature is enveloping you in a tight hug, reminding you that you are loved.

We rode like this for almost an hour. I marveled at lantana that were closer to the size of bushes, rather than the small plants I have at home. Sprigs of red bee balm peeked through the browns and greens of the forest. Sunlight dappled the path, where it could penetrate the tops of the oyamel fir trees. My body swayed and bobbed with Regal’s gait, lured into a peaceful trance. As we climbed higher, a fluttering captured my eye. Oh! There! The bright orange of a monarch’s wings captivated me. I watched as it glided closer, effortlessly drifting, before landing on a bright flower. I was mesmerized.

We reached the point where horses could go no further. We dismounted, and began the final climb on foot to the top of the mountain. Ten minutes later our guide stopped. We stopped, somewhat out of breath, the elevation of 5,500 feet bearing on us. I wondered why we stopped. We were in a fir grove, mulched wood soft and spongey beneath our feet. Our guide pointed upwards.

It took me a minute to process what I was seeing. There, on the trees, were brown clusters, which looked similar to wasps’ nests. I stood in silence, wondering what the ever so slight sound was that I could barely discern. And then I saw it. As the sunlight hit the clusters, individual monarchs peeled off and began flying around the tops of the firs. Each individual monarch appeared to be a diamond in the sky, sparkling as the sunlight reflected off its wings. I reveled in the silence. I stared upward, my eyes darting each time a butterfly took flight. They circled, they dipped, they returned to the cluster, they took flight again. A woodpecker peck, peck, pecked on a nearby tree. I was on sacred ground.

We watched in silence, marveling at the miracle before us. I attempted a video, but camera simply could not fully capture the magic of the moment.

After what felt like an eternity, and at the same time no time at all, our guide motioned for us to follow him back to the horses. Part of me wanted to plead for just a few more minutes. And part of me understood that I had witnessed something magical, and it was time to allow others to experience the same. As we walked to where the horses were, more butterflies fluttered past. I said a silent prayer of gratitude for being able to experience this miracle. Muchas gracias, mis monarcas.