Once upon a summer evening, when the sun was at its hottest and the surrounding green looked more like emerald in the bright light of the blazing star in the sky, there had been a plump, green caterpillar much larger than her sisters. How big was she, as her siblings watched as she ate and ate, away at the milkweed and the dandelions that grew wildly in the great hills above the cliffs.
The caterpillar and all her sisters were born on the highest mountain, reaching far into the sky to touch the clouds with its peak. But it was not looking for the clouds that brushed it with their soft bodies, greeting it like a cat may greet its owner. No, the mountain, and all that it held, aimed for the sun- the brilliant sun that bestowed earth with its radiance.
Every year, when it became time for the snow to fall and the air to turn brittle with cold, all the butterflies made their way towards the sun for warmth throughout the freezing season. They played between its rays of light and danced in its warmth until spring sprang down upon the land, in which they would flutter back down to live out the rest of their lives among the wild.
Each and every one of the caterpillars that thrived on that mountain looked wistfully upon the sun, impatient to grow into their beautiful wings and kiss it once, just once, so that they may return to the earth to die happily in the circle of life and death.
The plump little caterpillar looked higher than most, ate more than any other, and wished harder than a child might wish on their birthday before blowing out the candles. She longed more than anything to grace the sun with her arms and play in the bright light all winter long. She confided in herself, ‘I will become more than all my sisters. When I break free with my big wings- bigger than even a birds’- I will fly first into the sun.’
But she kept such thoughts out of her mouth, for she was much too focused on eating away at the cabbage and raspberry that bunched along the mountain. Her sisters ate with her, munching along slowly before one by one they wove their cocoons on stems and sticks to begin their rebirth. But the plump little caterpillar stayed eating, alone. She got to work on her case much later than her siblings, for they were halfway done forming their wings by the time she wrapped herself fully.
Two long, peaceful weeks passed before the butterflies emerged, soaking wet. As they basked in the sun to dry their wings so that they may flutter about filling their empty bellies with nectar and sap- they all noticed the lone cocoon which sat squarely on a budding tree. The sisters crawled and climbed about, awaiting their late-blooming sibling as the gentle wind brushed over their black bodies, posing as if they were a field of colorful grass being bent in the breeze.
One sister, a short yellow girl, commented, ‘She has been in there for some time! Should we peel back her layers? Surely she might be dead, staying in there for such a long while.’
‘Absolutely not!’ another hushed, a red admiral butterfly with the imposing red streak across her wings noting her importance, ‘If she is not dead before, she would surely die if we pull her out too soon! We will wait for her, she will come when she is ready.’
So long they waited that when the cocoon finally broke open, all the other butterflies were done drying their wings. Emerged was the plump little caterpillar, now joining her sisters as a beautiful butterfly. But, as she posed to show off her transformation- all the other girls stayed still in awe.
‘You all must be dazzled by my impressive wings!’ She laughed jovially, ‘do speak up! I must know how colorful they are!’
But not one sister spoke up. The sound of beating wings ceased as all the surrounding butterflies gawked at their late sibling. Finally, the little yellow butterfly broke through the silence as her soft voice pierced the newly born butterflies’ ears,
‘My lady, you have not a wing for us to be dazzled by!’
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, and sure enough as she tried to beat her new wings- nothing came of it.
They were not there. She was a butterfly born without any wings to fly with.
The smallest tears you can think of wetted her face, as all her sisters huddled around her in comfort. What in the world was she to do? How could she ever greet the sun if she had no way to reach it? Her sorrow filled the hearts of the winged girls around her.
Autumn came, and winter was just barely breaching the door as it was time for all the butterflies to play around the sun for the season. One by one they left their poor wingless sister, as she huddled along the dirt floor of the mountain for warmth in the coming winter. She climbed up the side of a large oak tree, taking shelter in a little pocket in the trunk from the snow that mocked her as it danced about the air in jest. Dark in her heart and dark in her hole she stayed in that little cave in the tree, unable to join her sisters up high with the sun.
When the ice began to thaw about her, and hunger was eating away inside of her stomach, a bright beam of light broke into the hole in the tree in which she rested, blinding her. Down came her sisters! One by one they encircled the cave excitedly flapping their wings in joy of finding their lonesome sibling.
‘Dear, rejoice!’ the Red Admiral kissed the wingless butterflies’ wet cheeks stained with happy tears, ‘we have told the sun of your plight, we did! She has given us a gift for you- look! Look!’
And presented to her, in their glittering glory, were two wings forged from colored glass of all different hues. The stained glass wings were placed upon her back as she rejoiced in the suns’ kindness. She kissed each and every one of her sisters with her long feelers, endlessly thanking them. Though, when she burst from the hole in which she hid all winter long bearing her new wings- her sisters could barely catch her before she fell towards the earth.
‘Alas,’ the little yellow sister sighed, ‘the sun cannot replace what you were never meant to have, as while your wings are most beautiful- they are too heavy to lift you away into the sky. She cannot welcome you into her awaiting arms, no, but she has given you a gift in which she may take part in your beauty.’
So on the earth the glass-winged butterfly stayed. She watched as her sisters grew old around her, while she alone stayed young and beautiful. She watched as more caterpillars made more butterflies, and the sun kissed them all during winter and sent them back for the spring. The glass-winged butterfly watched undying, as without the kiss from the sun, she may not rest alongside her many sisters.
But she knew it was the suns’ gift, and she left it at that.