The forest was indifferent—just another witness to the quiet struggle unfolding beneath its twisted canopy. A crow, old and weathered by a thousand battles unseen, perched on a low-hanging branch, its black feathers gleaming in the dying light. The weight of time had turned the crow's gaze inward, where its deepest thoughts resided, heavy and dark like the storm clouds that always seemed to loom on the horizon. There was a quiet power in its stillness, but power, the crow knew, could feel like a burden, like chains masked as wings.

Then there was the butterfly—that damned butterfly—light, ephemeral, flitting between the branches, utterly unaware of the gravity beneath it. Its wings beat softly against the fragile air, catching fragments of sunlight that the crow had long since stopped noticing.

“How is it so free?” the crow rasped to itself, though it knew the answer. Freedom is for the unburdened, for those who fly close enough to the sun to feel its warmth but never burn. For the butterfly, life was a fleeting dance—a whisper on the wind.

The crow, though, knew better. It had seen the world. It had seen too much of it.

"There's always a price to be paid," the crow thought, eyes narrowing as it watched the butterfly drift. "You can’t dance forever."

In the shadows of the forest, the butterfly fluttered close, landing near the crow with an unsettling ease. Its wings, vibrant and delicate, seemed to mock the crow's sharp talons and its harsh beak. The crow eyed it warily, a spark of something darker twisting inside its chest.

"What are you running from?" the crow asked aloud, though it didn't expect a response.

The butterfly merely flapped its wings lazily, drifting again into the air, oblivious. "It doesn’t even understand," the crow realized. "It doesn’t see the weight. It’s blind to it. I could crush it in an instant, but what would that prove?"

It wasn’t the butterfly’s fault—it was its nature to be light, to float through life without the anchor of dark thoughts. But the crow… was built differently, forged in struggle, born into knowing.

It wasn't jealousy. No, the crow had no use for envy. What it felt was far deeper—an ache, the knowing that lightness could only last so long before the world would catch up to you. Because it always does. That was the lesson the crow had learned a long time ago.

Night fell, and the world seemed to shrink, the darkness pressing down on the forest like a closing fist. The crow, still watching, couldn’t help but wonder: "What would happen if I let go?" Let go of the weight, the watching, the knowing. Could it ever be like the butterfly? Could it live without feeling that constant pull toward the earth?”

The butterfly, ignorant of the crow’s musings, glided effortlessly toward the moonlight that filtered through the trees. And in that moment, a harsh truth hit the crow—the butterfly would never feel the weight of the world because it was never meant to. Just like the crow would never feel the breeze so lightly because it was born to carry something else.

But the crow wasn’t done. There was a fire left in it still, a stubborn refusal to surrender. It spread its wings, feeling the familiar resistance, the tension in its muscles. It would not fly like the butterfly, but it would fly its way.

"There’s strength in carrying the weight," the crow muttered under its breath. "And there’s beauty in the fall, too."

And so, with one final glance at the butterfly, the crow launched itself into the dark sky. Not toward the light, not toward the freedom the butterfly seemed to chase, but into the stormy abyss, where the winds were fierce, and the world was raw. This was where the crow belonged, in the shadows, where it could feel the pull of the earth and still choose to fly.

Thank you for taking the time to read one of my writings. For those who are new here, my name is April Martin, a professional illustrator based in small-town rural America. My work is a blend of storytelling and art, which you can explore further on my website. I’d love to connect with you on social media where I share my latest illustrations, thoughts, and projects. Follow me and stay inspired!

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April Martin

The Crow and the Butterfly: 2024

~Innocence~ 2011

Purple Inkwell Studios