A little colour before take-off.
A Name Like Mint
“You could be Mint,” the lavender butterfly said.
On the plate below her, the butterfly with green wings looked up.
“Why?”
“Your colour.”
“I was going to suggest that for you.”
The lavender butterfly turned towards the hand supporting her. A fine wooden point rested against one wing, tracing a pale line towards its edge.
“Am I green?”
“Here,” her new friend said.
A pink butterfly leaned closer from the other side of the plate.
“I’d have said pink.”
The lavender butterfly looked from one to the other. She had only just acquired wings, and already there were three opinions about them.
From the Plate
The chef finished the curved line and lifted the little tool away. In her palm, the butterfly held still while a finger supported the lower edge of her wing.
She could see its tip. It looked almost clear, with a little lavender gathered along the rim.
“Can you see this part?” she asked.
“Which part?”
“The bit I can see.”
Her green-winged friend moved around the plate. The ceramic made a soft sound beneath her tiny feet.
“Now it’s purple.”
“It was purple before,” the pink butterfly said.
“Not from here.”
The chef lowered her hand, and the lavender butterfly stepped onto the plate. Its smooth surface felt cool beneath her. Around her, light gathered in the soft ridges of their translucent rice-sweet wings.
She turned to thank her new friend for waiting.
Then she stopped.
One green wing had become pale gold along the edge. Through its thin outer curve, she could see a little of the pink butterfly standing behind it.
“Oh,” she said. “You’ve got some pink too.”
Her friend looked delighted.
“Where?”
A Better Look
The lavender butterfly came closer to point it out. As she moved, the patch disappeared.
She stepped back.
There it was.
“Don’t move,” she said.
“I haven’t.”
“No. Me.”
The pink butterfly watched her take the same two small steps again.
“Have you started dancing?”
“I’m trying to see something.”
The chef turned the plate a little. Warm light travelled across it, opening pale bands of peach and aqua inside the wings. The lavender butterfly lifted one of hers and watched a bright line slip along its edge.
She had liked the name Mint. It sounded fresh and easy to call across the plate. She had imagined saying it once and having her friend turn towards her, knowing exactly who she meant.
But she liked the new gold edge too. And the little pink patch, when she could find it.
“Which one do you like?” she asked.
Her friend looked over her shoulder, trying to inspect a wing she could not quite bring into view.
“Could you show me?”
The lavender butterfly moved beside her.
“From this side.”
A Little Different
The pink butterfly joined them. For a while, all three were occupied with looking: one wing raised, another turned towards the light, somebody taking a small step and asking whether that helped.
The chef set down her tool.
The lavender butterfly finally found the little pink patch again.
“There. That’s the one I meant.”
Her friend turned towards her voice.
“Stay there,” the lavender butterfly said. “You’ve changed again.”
Her friend paused with one foot lifted.
“Me or you?”
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