Every morning, when the first rays of sunlight tiptoe into Mrs. Jasmine’s garden, three little butterflies wake up.
Lily is pale blue, with a silver border along the edges of her wings, like a tiny piece of flying sky. She loves to perch on the lavender, closing her eyes to count the scents of the flowers.
Baz is bright yellow, with black dots on his wings, like a butter cookie sprinkled with chocolate chips. He can never sit still—one moment he’s teasing the bees, the next he’s chasing his own shadow.
Dian Dian is pale pink, with fine downy hairs on her wings that feel like the inside of a rabbit’s ear. She is the quietest of the three, always sitting beside a dewdrop, waiting for the sun to turn it into a tiny diamond.
The three butterflies are best friends. They play hide-and-seek together in the rosebushes, take naps together on mint leaves, and listen together to Mr. Snail’s slow-paced stories.
One afternoon, the sky suddenly yawned—the clouds turned gray, the wind grew cool, and a few large raindrops began to fall, “plop, plop.”
“Hurry, let’s get out of the rain!” Baz shouted.
They spotted a red rose, its petals layered upon one another like a cozy little cottage.
“Sister Rose,” Lily knocked politely on the door, “can you let us in to shelter from the rain? All three of us butterflies want to come in.”
The rose shook her beautiful crown: “Lily can come in—your blue wings match mine perfectly. But Baz and Didi—it’s too crowded; my petals will get wrinkled.”
Lily flapped her wings: “That won’t do! The three of us have to stay together.”
They flew on to a lily. The lily looked like a white cup, filled with fragrant air.
“Aunt Lily,” Baz pleaded, “Can all three of us come inside to shelter from the rain?”
The lily swayed gently: “Baz can come in; your yellow will make my white look even prettier. But the other two—my stamens are shy and timid.”
Baz nudged Lily and Didi with his antennae: “Never mind, then. Let’s just keep walking together.”
The rain grew heavier, and they found their final shelter—a huge hydrangea, its purple flower head resembling a little round umbrella.
“Grandma Hydrangea,” Dian Dian asked softly, “Can the three of us come in together? Just for a little while.”
The hydrangea gathered all her little petals toward the center and said, “Come in, children. Three butterflies—just enough to fill my heart.”
The three butterflies squeezed into the hydrangea’s soft embrace. Lily’s left wing brushed against Didi’s right wing, and Baz’s antennae touched Lily’s. They rubbed against each other—it tickled—and they all laughed.
Raindrops sang “drip, drip, drip” outside the hydrangea, but inside it was dry and warm, with a faint scent of nectar in the air.
“It’s really cramped in here,” said Baz.
“It’s so warm,” said Lily.
“It smells so good,” said Didi.
As they huddled together, their eyelids grew heavy. Baz stopped fidgeting, Lily stopped counting the scents, and Didi buried her face in her wings.
The rain stopped, and the moon came out. The moon cast a silvery glow over the hydrangea, shining through the gaps between the petals onto the three butterflies—pale blue, bright yellow, and pale pink—like a little box of melted colorful candies.
Mrs. Jasmine passed by the garden and, seeing the three little butterflies sleeping inside the hydrangea, smiled softly.
“Good night, Lily. Good night, Baz. Good night, Dian Dian,” she whispered. “The best spot in the garden isn’t the biggest or prettiest flower—it’s the one that can hold all your friends.”
The hydrangea swayed gently in the night breeze, as if nodding in agreement.
The three butterflies twitched their antennae and shared the same dream—a dream of a flower so big, so big, with petals the colors of the rainbow, just big enough to hold the three of them, along with every little lost insect in the world.
And tomorrow, the sunshine will return, the dewdrops will sparkle once more, and they’ll fly together, play together, and discover new, tiny miracles together.
Good night, little butterflies. Good night.
