CLARA Chapter 7 The Dance of the Butterflies

Clara had only gone a short distance when she came to a whole section of meadow filled with daisies and buttercups with hordes of butterflies all dancing and fluttering and flying all around. It was the most beautiful sight Clara had ever seen.

"Oh my!" said Clara, "Isn't this lovely. Isn't this beautiful!  Oh my, oh my, I have never seen such a lovely sight before." There were golden butterflies and orange butterflies, blue butterflies and pink butterflies. It was like a rainbow of butterflies all dancing in the air from flower to flower.

"Isn't what lovely?" a pretty golden butterfly asked Clara as it settled down on a daisy directly in front of her.

"The way you all flit and flutter and dance around, the graceful way you fly here and there and everywhere. Oh how I wish that I could fly," Clara said with a sigh. “I wish I could be a butterfly.”

"That is the silliest thing I have ever heard, little pig.  Pigs can't fly!" The butterfly laughed and all the other butterflies giggled and giggled and fluttered and flew all around Clara.

"Well maybe I could, maybe if I tried," Clara said. "Maybe no pig has ever tried before.  Maybe pigs can fly and I shall be the first, at least the first to try."

"Maybe", the butterfly said, giggling as it flew away to join the others in their aerial ballet, "but I'm telling you', the butterfly said as it flew away, "pigs can't fly.”

Clara, watched the butterflies in their aerial ballet. She watched very closely. She stood on her very tippy, tippy toes and spun around and then sprang into the air as gracefully as she knew how; and down she came with a thud and a plop.

“Ouch,” Clara exclaimed, “that wasn't quite right, now was it.” She wasn't really talking to anyone except maybe herself but she could hear the butterflies all giggling and laughing. They were laughing at her and that made Clara feel sad.

Clara stood up and brushed herself off and then stretched up on her tippy-tippy toes to try again. She was sure she could fly if she just tried hard enough. She would never learn to fly if she didn't try.

Three times she tried and each time she came right back down again, plop, onto the ground and not very gracefully to say the very least.

"Oh my goodness," Clara said, "that certainly wasn't quite right, that wasn't right at all. I think I shall never be a butterfly."

"I'll say it wasn't," a deep voice behind Clara said. "What were you trying to do anyhow?"

"I was flying. I was pretending to be a butterfly. I’m learning to dance like the butterflies dance.” Clara answered as she stood up and dusted herself off again.

Clara turned around to see who had spoken to her. Gilligan Frog sat on a moss covered rock with a great big grin on his face.

"A butterfly!" he croaked, nearly falling off the rock from laughing so hard. "Is that what you were doing? You are not a butterfly," Gilligan laughed, "and for that I shall be eternally grateful. Imagine having a horde of pigs flitting about and landing on my lovely pond lilies," Gilligan croaked.

Gilligan did not like the thought of having a pig, even a little pig like Clara perhaps getting stuck in his throat.  Frogs like Gilligan sometimes had a butterfly or two for lunch.

“Little pig, be glad you are not a butterfly,” he croaked again, jumping off the rock and hopping over to Clara, “or I might be considering you for lunch.”

“That is awful. Clara scowled at Gilligan. “Why would you eat a butterfly for lunch?”

“Because they are good and that is what a frog would do, so be glad you are not a butterfly, little pig. Be glad you are a pig.” Gilligan croaked loudly.

"But they are lovely and they seem to be having such a wonderful time,” Clara said with a sigh. “They are really very good, don't you think?  It must be wonderful to be able to fly and to dance so gracefully."  Clara looked longingly at the butterflies.  “ Aren't they marvelous?”

"Deliciously so," Gilligan replied.

"What are you doing way out here in the meadow? Why aren't you at the farm where you belong?  Pigs don’t belong in the meadow.  I have never, ever seen a pig here in the meadow before.”
 
“Well here I am,” Clara said, smiling her very best piggy smile, “the world’s very first adventure seeking pig.  I’m tired of just eating and sleeping and eating again.  I’m tired of staying home in my piggy pen day in and day out.  I want to go places and see things and do things important like Cat and like Dog and Pony.  I want to do something useful. I want to be something beautiful.  I want to do something fun.  I’m tired of being just a pig in a pen with nothing to do.  So, here I am.  I am seeing new things and learning new things and trying new things. I am having an adventure.”  Clara sat down on the grass and looked at Gilligan.

“Wonderful”, Gilligan said.  “I’m all for being the most and doing the best you can with your life, but I don’t think you will ever qualify as a butterfly or even close to it.  You are a pig.  Frogs should be frogs and pigs should be pigs and butterflies, as lovely as they are should be lunch and that is all there is to it.”  Gilligan blinked his eyes as though to punctuate the statement. 

“Butterflies are butterflies, a delicacy of the finest kind.  You are not a butterfly and for that I am most grateful.” Gilligan was keeping a very watchful eye on the butterflies hoping he might more clearly demonstrate his meaning.  A mid afternoon snack would be quite delightful.

“I believe you are quite right,” Clara said as she stood up again.  “I shall never dance or fly like a lovely butterfly but I would never have known if I hadn't tried.  You are quite right, Mr. Frog, pigs can’t fly but it was fun to try.” Clara sighed. “There must be something special a pig can do; something besides eat and sleep and eat all day long. I’m trying to learn what it is a pig can do best and that is what I shall do.”
 
“Absolutely”, Gilligan agreed, trying not to laugh because Clara had been quite serious in her attempt.  She had tried very hard.  Gilligan liked that about Clara.  She was willing to try.  That was a good thing.  He liked Clara the little pink pig.  She was quite the interesting creature, he thought, especially since he had never actually met a pig before.

Mrs. Duck had told him about Clara and the other animals on the farm.  She had said Clara was kind and never seemed to mind at all when her ducklings wandered into the pig pen and splashed around in her tub of water or shared her barley broth and vegetables that Farmer brought to Clara every day.  Gilligan was glad he had finally met the little pig.  She was really quite charming. He was very pleased to have finally met her, this adventure seeking little pink pig with her heart shaped snout and blue eyes and an oink that sounded more like a giggle. She was a happy little pig and when you meet someone that is happy it makes you happy too. Gilligan liked Clara very much.