"Country air. Ah!" Bonnie
said, taking a deep breath. "I can smell the rich brown earth, the grains
growing in the plowed fields and a hint of pine from the forests carpeting
the hillsides. I love the country!"
"This is beautiful country.
I like this time of year too. Late summer, when all the leaves are
beginning to fall, birds are flying south and the heat is gone," Bruce
They fluttered along
through the sky, zooming in and out of the low flying clouds. "Look at
that tree," Bonnie pointed out. "Itís filled with colors, yet there are no
leaves. How odd!"
"Why donít we go and see
what it is? Iím needing a rest anyway," Bruce said.
They flew down towards the
tree. "Uh oh. Itís not flowers or fruit growing on those bare branches.
Itís birds! I didnít know Scotland had birds that were so colorful, and
there are so many of them in the same place. Thatís very odd," Bonnie
"Weíd better be really
careful. Letís get out of here before they see us. Birds, especially
colorful ones, love to eat butterflies," Bruce warned. They flew quietly
past the tree. Just as they began to feel safe, the birds flew off the
tree and headed towards them. They soon surrounded Bonnie and Bruce,
knocking them here and there. "Bonnie, where are you?" Bruce called out,
not seeing his friend.
"Over here," she cried.
"Where are you?"
Bruce never got to answer.
His wing got caught in one of the birdís feet and he soon found himself
being carried off. "Help!" he called out, but Bonnie didnít hear him.
Within a few minutes the
birds were gone. Bonnie fluttered down to a tree stump and rested. "Now,
where did Bruce go?" she wondered. She looked all around. "Bruce! Bruce!
Bruce!" she called. He didnít answer. She looked in the sky and saw the
birds heading west. "I wonder if one of the birds caught Bruce? Iíd better
follow them." She flapped her wings as fast as she could and chased the
birds. After a while she came to a town. A large sign announced its name,
Kirriemuir. "What a lovely little town," she said, flying down the narrow
streets. "Look at all the red buildings. I like that color of brick." She
called Bruceís name over and over again but he didnít answer. "Bruce!
The bird dropped Bruce on
the ground, at the bottom of a statue. He rubbed his sore wings and
straightened his bent antenna. "Where am I and what is this statue?" he
asked. He flew up and down and around the statue. "Oh, itís Peter Pan! I
must be in Kirriemuir. I wish Bonnie was here to see this statue," Bruce
"Bruce! There you are,"
Bonnie called out. She flew down to the ground next to him. "Where have
you been? Iíve been looking all over this town for you."
"The bird dropped me here.
My wing was caught in his foot." Not worrying about the previous event, he
said, "Look at this wonderful statue. Itís Peter Pan. J.M. Barrie, who
wrote the story, was born here. Do you know the story?"
"Yes, of course. Everyone
knows who Peter Pan is, silly," Bonnie assured him. "Thereís Wendy and
Captain Hook, the pirate, and Smee, and John, and Michael, and the Lost
Boys too. I know the story well."
"This is a nice village,"
Bruce said, looking around. "J.M. Barrie is buried here too. Maybe if we
have time we can go and have a look at things." Bonnie nodded in
agreement. "Oh," he said, spotting the colorful birds on top of a shop.
"There are those birds again. Where in the world did they come from and
why havenít they flown south, like the other birds are doing?"
"Donít worry about it.
Letís go and see what we can find to eat. Iím rather famished," Bonnie
said, rubbing her tummy. They flew up one of the narrow streets, looking
for a flower garden. On one of the shop windows was a large poster.
"The big sign. It looks
like it has birds on it," she said, fluttering down to read it. "Oh, those
birds escaped from a pet store. The owner is looking for them." She looked
up and saw they were in front of the pet store. "We need to help him find
his birds before they all fly away."
They flew into the store
and fluttered about in front of the owner. "What are you butterflies doing
in my shop?" he asked, smiling at them. "Youíre very pretty and colorful,
just like my wee birdies." His smiled changed to a sad frown. "Theyíre
Bonnie fluttered her wings
and headed to the door. Bruce followed. The man sensed they were trying to
show him something. "Do you want me to follow you? Do you know where my
birdies are?" he asked them, excitedly. Bonnie fluttered her wings faster.
He opened the door and the butterflies flew out. They hovered until he
locked the shop up. "Take me to them," he said. Bonnie and Bruce flew down
the lane. Suddenly the man saw his birds. "Oh, there you are. Come to
papa," he called to them.
The birds flew from the
rooftop and zoomed past Bonnie and Bruce, knocking them about again. "Oh
no! Not this again," sighed Bruce. Bonnie was knocked to the ground and
the pet shop owner nearly stepped on her.
The birds landed all over
him. He had them on his head, arms, shoulders, chest and back. "Iíve got
my birdies back." He laughed and walked towards his shop.
Bonnie stood up and brushed
the dirt off her. "That was a close call!"
Bruce joined her. "I nearly
had my wings crushed right in half! At least heís got his birds back.
Letís go to the pet shop and see."
When they arrived at the
pet shop, they looked in the windows. The big sign was down and all the
birds were back in their cages. The owner came outside when he saw the
butterflies. "Iíve got a lovely garden behind the shop. Come on and you
can help yourself to all the nectar you want," he said to them. He opened
the front door and let them in. They flew past the caged birds; all were
chirping merrily away now. He opened the back door and they flew into his
back garden. It was filled with roses and asters, bluebells and marigolds.
"There you are now and thank you for finding my birdies. Stay as long as
you want." He went back inside and shut the door.
"Ah. Look at this sweet
nectar. I guess being kind does have its benefits, doesnít it?" Bruce
Bonnie didnít answer. She
was too busy sipping nectar from a white rose. Bruce smiled and fluttered
up next to her. They spent the rest of the day surrounded by the beauty of
the flower garden.