How Butterflies Began

(a retelling)

Once upon a time, before we could speak,  we lived in a land of maybe. Everything was a little bit mixed-in and up, a little soft around the edges, a little hazy and unclear. Never night and day, but always in between. Never sweet nor sour, but always in between. Never love nor hate, but always in between.

And then one day, a terrible accident. One of ours fell, and falling was a new thing, because without up, there was no down, and no place to go for any of us. But in the fall she went quiet, and silent, and this too was new, because without speech there is no silence. And she didn't move, which was unknown, and she didn't breathe, and her heart didn't beat. And he, who was new, since never had there been a she, so never a he had been, cried.

We were all surprised, and turned to each and said, "Why? Why doesn't she breathe? Why doesn't she move? What happened?"

The wisest of us volunteered to explore the matter, and settled down to talk for a long time. But when they stood from their thinking, they were just the same as when they had sat down so long before, so we knew they had not found the secret of the change.

There were, however, some of us. Very small, hardly of any voice, hardly with heads to nod. And while the great ones had been thinking and talking, they had also set out to explore the matter, and sat down, each alone, in silence and stillness.  And when they came back, oh dear ones, they were entirely different. They were  beautiful, and flew high above us on shining wings, to show how they could dance.

We nodded to each other and said "They solved it! They went to the other place and came back improved! It can be done!"

And then we stood, looking at each other, wondering.