The Moth and The Butterfly

The moth envied the butterfly. She would sometimes rest upon the old oak tree"s branch that overlooked the meadow and dream she was as beautiful as the butterfly. One day, as the moth was in the midst of one of these daydreams, the butterfly alighted on some blushing hollyhocks below the branch on which the dreaming bug lay. The big, beautiful wings of pale gold were elegantly offset by the black stripes and outlining of her wings, as well as the turquoise blue at her tips. The moth"s feathered antennae fluttered as she was drawn further into her trance. In her mind"s eye, she had become the butterfly, and she was determined to make it into a reality. She frantically began beating her wings and soon was flapping over the floral meadow. The moth sailed through the air until she found the biggest buttercup of the field. She nestled in between the silky yellow petals and rubbed the pollen all over her wings. “There,” she thought, “now all I need are blue tips, and I"ll be just like the butterfly.” The moth cheerily flittered until she found a wild blueberry bush, from which she tried to cut a blueberry, but the vine was too thick. Suddenly, the moth heard the beating of wings approaching and hid in the leaves below. There came a little white butterfly, who landed on the very blueberry the moth had been a moment ago. The small wings of the pretty little butterfly were covered in a dusty yellow, making her look rather like a dirty flower petal. “That must be pollen,” the moth thought sheepishly, realizing now how ridiculous she must look. The poor little butterfly poked the berry with all her might, muttering, “I simply must have blue tips. Oh, how I wish…How I wish...” “You wish to be like the yellow butterfly?” came a voice from above. The moth and the white butterfly looked up and were petrified. A black spider hung on a thread a very little ways off, lowering himself slightly with a sly smile. “I can help you,” he grinned. “I can make you even more beautiful than that yellow one. In fact, she will wish to be as pretty as I can make you.” The little butterfly turned her instant fear into desperate hope. “How?” she cried greedily. “Please,” he said, motioning to a gentle green leaf, “come sit here, and I’ll show you.” “Don"t!” shouted the moth, but it was too late. The naive little bug had darted for the leaf, but was stopped in midair. She was caught in the spider"s web. The spider lost no time. He darted to the white butterfly"s side and entrapped her within his silk before she had time to scream. The little butterfly tried to escape the webbed prison, beating this way and that, but the looming spider merely laughed. His gruesome grin revealed his two hideous fangs that he plunged into the silky cocoon, which suddenly became eerily still. When the spider slowly withdrew his fangs, one of his eyes caught sight of the petrified moth. He turned to her, a sinister grin smeared across his face, as he uttered, “You wish to be like the yellow butterfly?” The moth screamed and flew away as the spider chuckled and returned to his meal. “If that"s how you become a beautiful butterfly,” she panted, once safely away, “ I"m satisfied being a moth!” And so she was, all the rest of her days. The moth came to love herself as she was and was no longer ashamed that she wasn"t that silly yellow butterfly. And now, on still summer days, you will find the moth blithely flitting about the meadow, sipping on the violets and honeysuckles, and sometimes, you will find the yellow butterfly among the hollyhocks, dreaming she was as beautiful as the moth.