A gentle fantasy tale for childhood transitions and trusting the process.
One fine morning, a girl named Marlow wandered through sunlight as it danced between the leaves.
She wasn’t running from something, exactly. She just felt restless, as though something inside her was changing, but she didn’t know what.
She kicked at a pebble on the path and sighed. “Why do I feel so lost? Like I’m stuck between who I was and who I’m supposed to be.”
That’s when she noticed him: a plump, green caterpillar lounging on a smooth, flat rock. He was wearing the tiniest pair of round spectacles and, oddly enough, sipping from a cup of tea no bigger than a dewdrop.
The caterpillar glanced at her over the rim of his teacup and smiled.
“Are you lost?” he asked in a voice as light as a breeze. “In need of help? Why have you come running?”
Marlow blinked, not quite sure if she was dreaming. “I’m not lost,” she said slowly. “I’m searching.”
“For what?” The caterpillar leaned forward, his grin warm and knowing.
“For wings,” Marlow whispered. “Wings that might grow stunning.”
The caterpillar nodded knowingly. “Ah, then you must learn the art of life weaving.”
“Weaving?” Marlow asked, confused.
“Weaving,” the caterpillar repeated. “It’s the way we turn our dreams and fears into something new. But first, you need to let go of old thoughts — the ones that keep you small.”
Marlow thought about the times she doubted herself, the times she felt too ordinary or too afraid to change. She nodded, took a deep breath, “I’m ready.”
The caterpillar smiled again and handed her a starlight spool of silken thread. “To weave your wings, you must gather the right things,” he said.
“Like what,” she said.
“Like hope,” he said.
Marlow began threading her hopes and wishes. She thought about her dreams, the ones she kept hidden away, afraid to let them fly free. Each thought became a loop of silver thread.
“Now,” the caterpillar said softly, “weave in your fears, too. Even the fear of saying goodbye. Even the sadness of broken dreams.”
Her hands trembled as she stitched in the memories of things she had lost, moments that felt like failure. And as she did, the tapestry became stronger, more luminous.
“Loop your thread through the sun,” the caterpillar whispered, “and the gentle light of candles.”
“Don’t forget lullabies,” the caterpillar reminded her, “and the sighs of those who love you.”
She wove in the songs her mother used to sing, the comfort of her father’s hugs, and warm laughter shared with friends.
“And the moon?” she asked.
“Oh yes,” he chuckled. “A moon as full and round as a secret kept just for you.”
Marlow wove the soft silver glow of the moon into her fabric. She worked and worked until the forest grew dim, and her hands ached. When she finally stopped, she held a shimmering tapestry woven from her dreams, fears, and everything she loved.
When she finally stopped, the caterpillar looked at her weaving with a satisfied smile. “You’ve done well,” he said. “Now, you must let it all go.”
“Let it go?” Marlow asked, her heart sinking. “But I worked so hard!”
“That’s the final step,” the caterpillar said gently. “Trust that everything you’ve woven will become part of you. Let the darkness wrap around it, and let the mystery do its work.”
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and let go. The world grew quiet and still. The darkness felt warm, like a cozy blanket. She felt something new stirring deep inside her.
When she opened her eyes, the caterpillar was gone. In his place was a mirror-smooth pool of water. Marlow leaned over it and gasped.
She had wings—delicate, strong, beautiful wings.
A gentle breeze whispered past, carrying a familiar voice. “New life springs, this time, with wings.”
Marlow smiled, spread her invisible wings wide, and lifted her head. She didn’t know where the wind would take her, but she wasn’t afraid anymore.
She had become something new, and her journey was just beginning.
The End
An adaptation of Angi Sullins’ poem Winged Soul Repair
Read more from our collection of Wisdom Stories.
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