The Butterfly

One morning a child found a caterpillar on the big leaf by the garden gate. It was green and stripy, and it was eating a hole in the leaf, one tiny bite at a time.

Your child“Hello,”

said the child. The caterpillar stopped chewing and looked up.

The butterfly“I will fly one day,”

it said.

The butterfly“You will see.”

The child looked at its short little legs and its long green tummy.

Your child“Caterpillars cannot fly,”

said the child.

The butterfly“Not yet,”

said the caterpillar, and went back to its leaf. After that, the child came to visit every day with fresh leaves from the bush. The caterpillar ate every one and got fatter and fatter.

Then one evening the caterpillar was too sleepy to eat.

The butterfly“I am so sleepy,”

it said, with a very big yawn. It climbed up a twig, held on tight and spun a soft brown blanket, round and round, until all that was left was a little bundle.

Your child“Goodnight,”

whispered the child. The bundle did not answer.

Every day the child came to check. The rain came and went. The moon got round, then thin, then round again. The bundle hung on its twig and did nothing at all.

Your child“Are you in there?”

said the child, nose right up close. Something inside wiggled, just once.

The butterfly“Not yet,”

said a tiny voice.

One warm morning the bundle cracked open. Out came a butterfly, crumpled and damp, with its wings folded flat, like washing that nobody had hung out yet.

Your child“Is that you?”

said the child.

The butterfly“It is me,”

said the butterfly.

The butterfly“Now I need the sun.”

So they sat on the step together. The sun came round the corner of the house and slowly dried its wings.

The wings opened. They were orange, with a blue spot on each side. The butterfly walked onto the child’s finger, as light as a petal. The child did not want it to go and, very gently, closed both hands around it, like a little house.

Your child“Stay with me,”

said the child. It was dark in there, and much too small for wings.

The butterfly“I have to fly,”

said the butterfly, from inside the little house.

The butterfly“Please.”

The child thought about it for a long time, and then opened both hands, one finger at a time. The butterfly went up over the hedge, round the chimney and away over the roofs, until it was a tiny orange dot.

Your child“Goodbye,”

said the child, very quietly.

The next morning the child sat on the step and waited. Nothing came. Then one orange dot came over the roof, and then three, and then ten. The butterfly had come back and brought its friends. They landed on the child’s hair and arms and nose, until the child was covered in wings.

Your child“Look at me!”

said the child.

Your child“I am a butterfly!”

And that night, in bed, the child flew over the roofs in a dream, with ten orange friends.