For the past few days, a black butterfly had appeared every day in the lilies flowering in the garden.

Taro, the older brother, was the first to notice it.

“What a beautiful, big butterfly. It’s almost as big as a bird. If Jiro finds it he’ll probably catch it. He said he was going to make a great insect collection this summer. I hope it flies away before he gets back,” Taro thought, watching the swallowtail drinking nectar from the white lilies. The butterfly didn’t seem to have a care in the world as it played happily among the flowers.

Eventually when it had drunk enough nectar, it flapped its heavy-looking wings and flew over the hedge and up away into the bright sky.

The next day was Saturday, and Jiro came back from school early. Everyone was sitting on the veranda talking.

“Our lilies are mountain lilies, aren’t they? Where did the seeds come from?” Jiro was watching the lilies, silver in the light of the sun.

“Father brought them back from the country,” Taro told him.

“There must be lots of them flowering in the mountains. I want to go to the country.”

“They say the older they get the more flowers they have.”

“How many do ours have, I wonder.”

As the two brothers were talking, the black butterfly from yesterday flew into the garden and headed for the lilies.

“Ooh, a Spangle. Don’t move, I’m going to get my net and catch it…” said Jiro when he saw it, and he stood up, his eyes blazing.

“Silly butterfly. Why did you have to come now…” his brother tutted.

“What do you mean? I told you I’m going to collect all kinds of insects as specimens.”

Jiro rushed back with his butterfly net. But just then mother said:

“You’re not to catch that butterfly, Jiro. It comes to feed on the lilies every day. I noticed it some time ago.”

It came just yesterday, didn’t it? Taro thought to himself.

“Why can’t I catch it?” asked Jiro.

“Because that butterfly is your mother,” said Mother, and the two boys stared at her in surprise.

“I’ll tell you…” continued Mother, and Jiro threw down his net and sat next to his brother in front of her.

Mother began to tell a story.

“Once there was a sweet little girl, just four years old. Every day after lunch she would put on a huge pair of geta clogs and sneak out of the house before anyone noticed.

She had no friends to play with, only the hot, hot sun. Over there she could see the leaves of the grasses shining in the fields.

“Maybe I’ll go to see grandpa,” she thought absent-mindedly as she stood there.

“You shouldn’t go there, Mother will tell you off,” a group of swallows sitting on the telephone lines sang together.

But the little girl had made up her mind and she walked through the field, shuffling along in her big clogs. The field was full of all kinds of flowers, and butterflies and dragonflies, too.

In the middle of the field was a hut. When she got there she called out, “Grandpa, I’ve come to see you.”

Grandpa poked his head out of the door.

“Ah, hello there,” he said, and he picked the little girl up.

“Grandpa, what’s that for?”

“It’s the river festival soon, and that’s to go inside the fireworks.”

Grandpa told her all kinds of interesting stories as he worked, and the little girl listened quietly beside him.

Eventually they heard the sound of thunder way off in the distance.

“They’ll be worried at home, off you go now. I’ll take you back,” said Grandpa, and they left the hut where he made fireworks and he took the little girl back to where they could see the roofs of the town.

When she got home, her mother scolded her.

“How many times have I told you it’s dangerous to go to the firework hut.” Mother’s fierce face made the little girl cry.

Grandma came out.

“Children don’t understand when you just tell them theories, “ she said. “They’ll go where they are cared for.”

Now who do think that little girl was? It was me. I see that butterfly coming to the lilies every day and it reminds me of when I was little. It’s just enjoying the flowers and it doesn’t know anything. You mustn’t catch it and kill it.”

Mother finished her story, and Taro and Jiro imagined their mother as a child. That bright world full of love made them feel warm inside. But it felt like nature then was somehow different to nature now. They turned and watched the peaceful light of the sun fill the flowerbed.

~~