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"I see a meadow and I see
some flowers," Bonnie said, struggling for breath. "I’m tired and I’m
hungry and I’m going to stop at those flowers whether you do or not."
"I’ll follow you," Bruce
agreed.
The two butterflies
fluttered slowly down to the buttery yellow buttercups. They sipped the
nectar and enjoyed the shade offered by the willow trees hanging over the
flowers.
BAAA! BAAA! BAAA!
Bonnie lifted her head.
"Did I just hear sheep?"
BAAA! BAAA! BAAA!
"I thought so." She looked
around her. "We’ve landed in a meadow all right, but it’s full of grazing
sheep." Several of them were nibbling on tender grasses only a few feet
from the butterflies.
BAAA! BAAA! BAAA!
"They won’t bother us. They
don’t eat butterflies. They eat grass," Bruce assured her.
"They’re also very noisy!
Oh well. I’m too hungry to care right now," Bonnie said and stuck her
proboscis back into the buttercup.
"I wonder where we are?"
Bruce asked.
"Why don’t you go and check
things out and I’ll stay here and eat," Bonnie suggested.
"Good idea. I’ll be back in
a while. Don’t let any sheep eat you while I’m gone," he giggled. Bruce
flew high above the willow tree and looked around. "Hmmm, that looks like
a river up there." Fluttering his wings, the butterfly headed towards the
Gala Water, or river. "It is a river and there’s the village. What is it
called, I wonder?" He flew around town looking for a sign of some sort.
"Aha, it’s called Galashiels. Now, where have I heard that name before?"
He flew down the main street. "There’s another woolen mill. I’ll stay out
of that place," he said, remembering his last encounter with a mob of
shoppers.
While he was flying around
the village, Bonnie was finding herself in a bit of a predicament. "Go
away, sheep. Shoo. Shoo," she said. Several large, wooly sheep were
nibbling on the buttercups all around Bonnie.
BAAA! BAAA! BAAA!
"Nice sheep. Go away. Go
and nibble on the heather or the bluebells. Leave the buttercups to
Bonnie," she said to them. One of the sheep looked at her and then sniffed
the buttercup she stood on. Suddenly Bonnie saw an open mouth headed for
her. "Yikes!" she cried and flew into the air, just as the sheep ripped
the buttercups out of the ground and munched them down. "Is there anywhere
safe, where a butterfly can just sip nectar and not be eaten by other
animals?" She flew up to the top of the willow. "Where did Bruce go? Over
there, I imagine, near the village. Off I go then."
She found Bruce sitting on
a flagpole. The flag of St. Andrew was waving in the wind. "You get a good
view from up here," he said as Bonnie landed next to him. "Finish your
buttercups?" he asked her.
"The sheep finished them
for me, thank you," she muttered angrily. "So, Bruce, what’s the name of
this town?"
"It’s called Galashiels.
I’ve been sitting here trying to remember things I’ve heard about this
place. Aha! The Earls of Douglas once had a tower here, way back in the
1300’s. Margaret Tudor and King James IV of Scotland were married at the
Mercat Cross in town."
"Margaret Tudor? Was she
the daughter of one of the King Henrys?" Bonnie asked.
"Yes. I know there was a
huge textile trade here too. They made fabulous cloths here," Bruce said.
A gust of wind came roaring
down the main street and blew the butterflies right off the flagpole.
Luckily Bruce was able to grab hold of the flag. "Hold on, Bonnie," he
called. She grabbed onto Bruce’s legs and held on tight. The wind whipped
them around. The flag snapped and tugged and threw them all over the
place.
"I nearly lost my wings
there," Bonnie said, flying to the ground after the gust had passed. "What
was that? A tornado?" She brushed the dust out of her eyes.
"Just a gust, Bonnie."
Bruce rubbed his legs. They were sore from having Bonnie pulling on them.
VROOOM! VROOOM! VROOOM! A
motorcycle drove past, throwing more dust into their faces. "First it was
the sheep and then it was the wind and now motorcycles. Let’s go back to
the meadow and find some daisies. I thought I saw some growing along the
river. I think we’ll be safe there," Bonnie said.
The butterflies left
Galashiels behind and flew towards the Gala Water. Bonnie was right. There
was a large patch of white daisies with lemon-yellow centers. They feasted
on nectar all afternoon. For the rest of the day, they weren’t disturbed
by any more sheep. As the sun set that evening, they fell asleep under the
petals of the daisies while the gentle river flowed past. "Goodnight,
Bruce."
"Goodnight, Bonnie."
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