The Schoolyard

You head past the hedge to the schoolyard and see something remarkable. Monarch butterflies are everywhere. They are pouring out of a glass container in astonishing numbers and with the energy of steam escaping from an engine. Now they are fluttering past the noses of astonished children, alighting on the shoulders of the bemused woman who has just opened their container, landing on your arms and brushing past your face.

The woman attempts to get the kids’ attention. "Look, they aren’t caterpillars anymore. They’ve grown up! I don't want you chasing them. When you grow up I'm sure you wouldn't want your momma keeping you at home. Not so fast!" the woman grabs the scruff of a kid who has just started to run after one of the butterflies. "Kevin, remember the last time you fell into the swamp? We spent the rest of the day warshing the slime out of your clothes"

The woman has short red hair and is wearing overalls. Her sleeves are rolled up. She spends the next five minutes keeping the kids from running out of the schoolyard. After preventing a gap-toothed little girl from squashing one of the butterflies she stands up, puts her hands on her hips and improvises a way to get the kids safely inside of the schoolhouse. “Who here can draw a picture of one of our news friends? If I see a signed picture on my desk you can keep a pupa!”
“What’s a pupa?” The gaptoothed girl asks.
“It’s the empty cocoon. Hush up and get inside.”

The kids dart in. It was a remarkable solution. She lets out a quick exhalation of breath and sits down on the bench, collecting her things.

My goodness if it isn't Virginia Blair, after all these years. You are alone in the courtyard with her. She hasn't noticed you

The Flower Garden

You are in an overgrown park. This was once a well-maintained spot: a clean path circling around a large stone fountain, shaded benches, careful arrangements of local and more exotic flora planted in sectioned off areas outside the circle. But now it is totally overgrown. The stone is cracked, the fountain is dried up and filled with vines, the exotic vegetation has intermingled with each other and now overflows from their designated areas onto the path.
You see something strange and familiar growing in the center of the fountain: a single, bulbous, sickly looking FLOWER, as big as a dinner plate and bright purple.
To the WEST is the schoolhouse. You can hear the commotion of children assembling outside. To the EAST is the courthouse, eerily silent. To the SOUTH are townhouses.