The little buttercup whispered goodbye so softly that he could barely be heard. He was busy thinking about the places that the butterfly talked about. How he wished that he could fly around; or even if he could crawl like the little ants and caterpillars, he would be able to see different and new places. He was sure it would bring him excitement and make him happy.
The buttercup sighed loudly, which caused a nearby lily to perk up and ask, “Are you okay, little buttercup?”
“Oh, I’m fine. I just saw a beautiful butterfly named Bacia. She talked about all the places she had flown; I wish I could fly too, but I am stuck here in one place. I have never even left this garden.”
“I know what you mean,” said the lily. “I also wish I could travel.”
One by one, the other flowers joined into the conversation, each one saying how they were unhappy unable to see new and exciting places and things because they were plants, and could not travel. Then a deep voice spoke. It was the old tree; the flowers knew he was very wise, as he had seen and experienced many things his years growing in the magical garden. He had been there longer than any of them, year after year, seeing the cool and rainy spring, the hot and bright summer, the breezy and fresh fall, and the cold and snowy winter.
“Little flowers, what seems to be the problem?”
The flowers were quiet for a moment, and then the buttercup who had spoken to the butterfly quietly stated his case: “We plants and flowers have never seen anything other than this garden. Insects can travel around by flying or crawling or walking. We have to stay in one place. It is boring. Why does it have to be like this? It’s not fair.”