Rachel posted a comment to my poem "Looking for Wings". In a small voice accompanied bya *sniffle*, she wrote "Will you make another half? I'd like to know if she gets her wings." What the lady wants, the lady gets.
Later, when it was time for the second caterpillar to emerge from its cocoon, something strange happened. The caterpillar didn't emerge as a butterfly; it was still a caterpillar. Somehow, in its grief, it refused to move on. The pattern repeated. Each year, it would make a cocoon, withdraw into it and then emerge, still a caterpillar.
So now, we're witness to a strange scene. The caterpillar has picked up a lot of friends along the way. There's a group of butterflies and a couple of new young caterpillars gathered around the annual cocoon with an inchworm, a couple of ants, even a grub or two. A warrior bug watches alertly from far above on a branch. A single angelic spirit butterfly flies silently above the cocoon. The feelings of love and anticipation are palpable. They're all staring intently, hoping this time to see wings.
As they waited, a strange thing began to happen, something that had never happened before. The caterpillar inside was moving around and she was talking. The entire group got quiet, a rare thing for them. The scholarly old stink bug under the rock that had been taking down the story even stopped scratching with his quill. As the entire group listened, they could hear the caterpillar asking a question.
"Will you make another half? I'd like to know if she gets her wings." *sniffle*
At this, the wise old stink bug softly smiled in a fatherly way that only stinkbugs can master. "Little caterpillar, you have wings. You have had wings since that first cocoon, seven years ago. You have but to let go of the ground, and you will fly. Release your hold on the past and it will release its hold on you."
With that the little butterfly emerged from the cocoon. The entire group gasped when they saw her wings. As she soared into the sky for the first time, they saw sunlight and moonglow shine from her wings. The light of a thousand stars beamed in her eyes. All of the bugs cheered and clapped, even the grubs. The little butterfly paused and looked at her friends. A single tear rose in her eyes, but this time, it was a tear of joy.