How Butterfly got her Wings

A folktale by Anna Hoyler

Now don’t let anyone ever tell you to stop dreaming. It’s important to dream. Have you ever heard how the butterfly got her wings? No? Well, gather around and I’ll tell you.

Very long ago, before anyone I’ve ever known was alive, when the earth was still young and the animals still figuring out their places, butterflies had no wings. They crawled about like worms, and other nasty insects. They never tried to fly because they never looked up and saw the world waiting for them; but were content to crawl along the leaves they ate.

There was one little butterfly named Sky-Child, who did long for the sky. At first she was content merely to watch it, watch the clouds passing, the stars and sun drifting along their paths night after night and day after day. Perhaps she saw a bee buzz over her, or observed a low flying bird, but somehow she formed the desire to fly. She began to follow the bees, and one day a bee spoke to her.

“Sky-Child,” the bee said, “Why are you following me?”

“I beg your pardon,” Sky-Child replied (for everyone was very polite in those days) “but I want to fly too.”

The bee laughed. “You’re a butterfly. You haven’t any wings.”

“Please, Miss Bee, How do I get some?” Sky-Child asked.

“Try eating pollen and honey, that’s what we bees do.” The bee replied before winging off. With a soft sigh, Sky-Child watched her leave.

So she began to eat only what bees ate. The other butterflies laughed at her for being so silly.

“You’re a butterfly,” they said, “if you were meant to fly you would have wings.”

But Sky-Child ignored them.

One day as she carefully licked up pollen from a flower, Dr. Owl, the wisest of beasts settled on a limb next to her.

“Whoo are yoou?” He asked (for all owls ask that first, even if they know the person very well), “You are not a bee.”

“Please, Dr. Owl, my name is Sky-Child and I am a butterfly. But I want to fly! Do you have any advice, sir?” Sky-Child bowed respectfully.

“Hoom, I shall have to think a moment,” the wise owl replied. He thought for two days before shaking off the squirrels who thought he made an excellent picnic table and called to Sky-Child.

“Yes, sir?” She asked; coming out of the chrysalis that all self-respecting butterflies wove to sleep in.

“I might have the answer to your problem. Hoo, yes, I think I do.” Dr. Owl announced importantly.

“Please sir, tell me.” Sky-Child asked, feeling excited.

“It becomes obvious that you haven’t any wings. Therefore, you must make yourself a pair.” He told her, and then took off for parts unknown, or lunch, which ever he happened upon first.

“But, Dr. Owl! I don’t know how!” Sky-Child called after him, but he was out of earshot.

“I’ll just have to learn.” She muttered to herself and started off. She soon found two leaves of the perfect shape. She tried to jump off a big rock while clinging to them, but she kept falling on her face. Blue Jay watched her try several times before telling her his thoughts (something blue jays are never reluctant to do).

“Your wings are to plain.” He told her.

“Excuse me. What was that?” Sky-Child asked, carefully lowering her wings to the ground.

“Your wings are too plain to fly. They need to be pretty.” Having said his piece, Blue Jay flew away.

Sky-Child set to work. Carefully she mixed different pollens with water and delicately painted the mixture on her leaves. Over two more days she painted both side and coated them was a thin layer of sap to keep the pigment from washing off. Finally she was able to try again. She leapt from her rock…and fell to the ground.

“Maybe you’re too low.” Rabbit suggested. “Hawks always leap out of trees.”

“Thank you. That is a splendid idea,” Sky-Child answered, and climbed up the nearest tree. Choosing a good branch, she held tightly to her wings, and threw herself out. For a moment her wings seemed to hold, but then she crashed into the earth once again.

“Maybe you didn’t do it right.” The rabbit suggested.

“I’ll try again.” Sky-Child was much relieved to find her wings were undamaged. Once more she made the exhausted climb to the top of the tree. But she was too tired to jump, so she wove a chrysalis and pulled her wings in with her.

When she broke her way free the next day, she felt odd. Running her antenna across her body, she found something new on her back. Carefully twisting her head, she watched in amazement as her wings unfolded above her head. All the pollen paint she had carefully made and applied glittered in the sunlight. With a laugh she leapt off the branch and beat her wings.

“Look Everyone!” She shouted, “I’m flying!”

And that, little one, is how the butterfly got her wings.

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