04/06/2026
Story in progress ...it has so many mistakes like confunse wander to wonder...etc!
The little wonder from the hill
It is my 6 story and I have the painting .. Just some improvements...i like it more...I count them, maybe a day I will have a story site and a Book....Just reading it, I am really amazed about ..! " I really admire myself and " the AI help"! Thanks to Universe!
A long time ago on a sacred hill lived a little wanderer. The folks of that ancient culture, lived in harmony with the earth, believing that every hill, flower and insect carried a fragment of the universe 's soul.
They spoke the language of the wind and to them nature was the main storyteller.
On a particular day, while enjoying a walk by the picturesque undulating hill, the little wanderer stopped in the valley to draw the flowers dancing to the land's melody.
In her culture, artists did not just copy what they saw, what they admire; they used their art to give shape to the unseen spirit of the world.
Bemused by the scenery, with wonder in her eyes and tools in hand, she disappeared into a hidden, moss - covered hollow of the hill.
Spotting her, a wild bush rose swayed , opening its petals with a smile to give her a warm welcome.
Contemplating its beauty, the little wanderer knelt beside it and asked in a kind voice.
" Why do you have this majestic red colour? I have never seen a shed so deep and full of life"!
The rose shook off a morning dew drop, its leaves rustling softly .
"Ah, little daughter of the ancient hills, " the rose replied, its voice like a gentle murmur in the breeze.
" My colour is not painted by the sun, or drawn with charcoal like yours . It is a living memory."
The little wonderer leaned closed titling her head. " A memory of what?"
My elders from the hill, say that everything in the valley holds a memory, but how can a flower remember?"
" Your people know that, the earth forgets nothing", the rose whispered, releasing a fresh, sweet perfume.
"My pigment holds the passionate love story of the pollinators I have witnessed across the hill.
It belongs to two butterflies, from a time long ago..."
" Tell me about them", the girl pleaded, setting her drawing tools down on the grass. " How could butterflies change the colour of a rose?"
The rose's petals began to unfurl further as it shared his secret.
" At the end of summer, I still remember how two butterflies enjoyed their time. They flew over the hill, sipping my nectar, kissing each other on my petals and laying eggs on my leaves. They loved with a passion that burned brighter than the sun ".
" And that love changed you?" the wanderer asked softly.
" Yes", sighed the rose.
" With every touch and gentle caress of their legs , my pigment shade changed, deepening into this red intense tone. Their emotions became my reality.
Since then, I became the most attractive shelter for many spices of butterflies, all searching for a piece of that love". The little wanderer looked at her blank paper.
" But, where are they now ? I only see you here alone".
" They did not truly leave," the rose comforted her.
" In a defining moment the butterflies in love stopped visiting me. Going through life' s spectacular metamorphosis, their souls are still together, wrapped in cocoons, looking forward to the time when they will shine again over the hill.
They are ready for that day, like a dream of a birthday , waiting to be born again and again.."
Inspired by the sacred memory , the little wanderer picked up her tools .
She began to draw the rose, weaving the ancient symbol of the butterflies into the wings of her paper, ensuring their love story will be told on the hill and valley for generations to come.
Copyright reserved ©️ Adriana Vasile
July 2025
