Yet it was still warm, and the sun was shining. The Creator watched the play of sunlight and shadow on the ground, the yellow leaves being carried here and there by the wind. He saw the blueness of the sky, the whiteness of some cornmeal ground by the women. Suddenly, He smiled. "All those colors, they ought to be preserved. I'll make something to gladden my heart, something for these children to look at and enjoy."
The Creator took out His bag and started gathering things: a spot of sunlight, a handful of blue from the sky, the whiteness of the cornmeal, the shadow of playing children, the blackness of a beautiful girl's hair, the yellow of the falling leaves, the green of the pine needles, the red, orange and purple of the flowers around Him. All of these He put into His bag. As an afterthought, He put the songs of the birds in, too.
Then He walked over to the grassy spot where the children were playing. "Children, little children, this is for you," and He gave them His bag. "Open it; there's something nice inside," He told them.
The children opened the bag, and at once hundreds and hundreds of colored butterflies flew out, dancing around the children's heads, settling on their hair, fluttering up again to sip from this or that flower. And the children, enchanted, said that they had never seen anything so beautiful.
The butterflies began to sing and the children listened, smiling.
But then a songbird came flying, settling on the Creator's shoulder, scolding Him, saying:"It's not right to give our songs to these new, pretty things. You told us when you made us that every bird would have his own song. And now you've passed them all around. Isn't it enough that you gave your new playthings the colors of the rainbow?"
"You're right," said the Creator. "I made one song for each bird and I shouldn't have taken what belongs to you."
So, the Creator took the songs away from the butterflies and that's why they are silent.
"They're beautiful even so!" He said.