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 "Where are we going?" asked
Bonnie, the pretty pink butterfly. "We’re not going in the same direction
as the rest of the rabble," she noted.
"Now that its warmer
weather in Scotland, the rest of them are heading up north. I thought it
would be nice to stay in the southern half of the country for a while. I
hear that up in Campbeltown the loveliest and bluest bluebells grow,"
Bruce answered. "I’m rather partial to bluebells now that I’m a blue
butterfly."
"I hope its not much
further. Your blue wings might be able to fly forever, but my wings are
getting tired from all this flying," Bonnie complained.
"Not much further. We just
have to go to Kintyre. It’s a peninsula, you know," Bruce said.
"What’s that?"
"It’s where some land juts
out into the sea. Sometimes it’s a lot of land; other times it’s only a
little land. Kintyre is surrounded by sea on three sides. That’s why
Campbeltown used to be a fishing port. It’s on the southeast side of the
peninsula."
"Let’s just hurry and get
there," said Bonnie. The day was half way over when they approached the
town. "Oh, this is a pretty town. There are hills and stones and water,
but where are the bluebells?"
Bruce looked down and saw a
field of blue growing near the shore. "I see them. Follow me!"
"I can smell them already,"
Bonnie said. They fluttered down and landed on the flowers. "Yummy. This
nectar is delicious," she said, sipping it from the little bell. "I like
bluebells."
"This town used to be the
busiest herring port in Europe," Bruce said.
"Herring is a fish, isn’t
it?" Bonnie asked. She raised her antenna and looked into the loch. "I
don’t see any fishing boats there now."
"I said it used to be,
Bonnie. I know its not anymore. I also heard that at one time there was a
distillery on every street of the town. This is an interesting little
place," Bruce said.
"Distillery? You mean they
made whiskey there?" Bonnie asked. "I thought I smelled something like
that," she said, sniffing the air. "I like it here. I hope there aren’t
any big birds flying around. I wouldn’t know where to hide."
"You mean like that one
over there?" Bruce said, pointing to a seagull. "Yikes! It saw us!"
"What will we do? Where
will we go? I don’t want the seagull to eat me," Bonnie cried, flying into
the air.
"Here it comes. Quickly,
Bonnie, follow me," Bruce urged. The two butterflies flapped their wings
as fast as they could.
SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK! The
seagull flew towards them.
"Hurry, Bonnie. Hurry!"
Bruce called. Up ahead he saw some rusted metal, piled high. Tall grass
was growing around it. "Over there. Quickly, Bonnie."
They swooped under the old
metal pile just as the seagull caught up with them. "It’s still out
there," Bonnie whispered a few minutes later. "It’s sitting on an old
wooden fence post, waiting for us."
SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
"I hear it. We’ll just have
to stay in here then until it leaves," Bruce said.
"What is this stuff we are
hiding in anyway?" Bonnie asked, looking around.
"I think its part of a
ship. They used to build ships here too, a long time ago," he told her.
"Why do you seem to know so
much about this town?" Bonnie wondered.
"When we were down south, I
listened to some of the other butterflies. They told me about a lot of
different places in Scotland. I know where the best flowers grow, where
there are other insects like bees, and where not to go too," Bruce said.
"If we were still white
butterflies, the seagull wouldn’t have seen us, would it?" Bonnie asked.
"No, probably not, but it’s
much nicer being blue. You like being pink now, don’t you?" he asked.
"Of course, but it makes us
easier to spot," Bonnie replied. She peeked out through the rusty metal.
"I think the seagull is gone now. Can we go back to the bluebells?"
Bruce cautiously flew over
to a blade of tall grass. The seagull was gone. "Coast is clear now," he
called. Bonnie came out and landed next to him. "You want more bluebells?
Follow me."
Bonnie watched over her
wing as they flew quickly. She could see other seagulls flying over the
water. They were searching for fish. Just as they touched down on the
bluebells, they heard squawking and it was close. SQUAWK! SQUAWK! SQUAWK!
"Oh no. The seagull is back," Bonnie cried. She flew down to the bluebells
and hid under the leaves. "Hurry, Bruce, before it sees us."
They hid and sat quietly.
The seagull hovered above them for a few minute, searching. "I don’t think
it sees me because my wings are blue, like the flowers."
"What about me? My wings
are pink," Bonnie said, frightened at the thought of being eaten.
Bruce put his wings over
hers. Soon the seagull flew off towards the sea.
"This place is too
dangerous. Lovely bluebells or not, I say we go somewhere safer, where
there aren’t as many birds," Bruce suggested.
"Fine with me," Bonnie
said. "Just let me gather some more nectar and pollen and then we’ll be
off." In a few minutes the butterflies were flying up the peninsula,
staying as far away from the coast as they could. "I’ll always remember
Campbeltown and its lovely bluebells," she said as they flew towards safer
ground.
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