There is a certain kind of quiet that exists inside a garden full of butterflies. It isn’t the silence of an empty room, but the hush of a thousand tiny wings beating against the air. I recently had the chance to step into a place that feels like it was plucked from a Gabriel García Márquez novel: El Jardín De Las Mariposas .
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One of the docents (who spoke with the gentle authority of a gardener-monk) explained: "Inside that shell, the caterpillar completely disintegrates. It turns into soup. From that chaos, the butterfly is born." El Jardin De Las Mariposas