environmentalist practicality meets imaginative freedom in the park ranger's daughter . . .
Picture me, this morning, taking my dog for a walk. With me was my seven year old daughter and her seven year old friend. They are both currently completely obsessive about faeries. Faerie wings, faerie houses, faerie spells, the faeries following them RIGHT NOW. I like their names for the faeries flitting around us this morning, especially the one they are calling Twinklebum. I would like to think that if I was a faerie I would have a name such as twinklebum.
My daughter's friend finds the fallen floral part of a Mimosa tree. It is pretty. For those not familiar, it is a multicolored threadlike little flower part, something that looks like it could be 'carried along on an eastern breeze of a summer eve.' in some Faulkner novel.
"This must be part of a Faerie dress!" says my daughter's friend incredulously.
"That comes from a Mimosa tree," I offer, thinking that maybe they might name the faerie mimosa, which sounds like a pretty cool faerie name to me.
"That is pretty, " agrees my daughter, "But Mimosa is an exotic invasive species so maybe the faeries might not like it."
Wow. She does listen to me sometimes. I hope it doesn't scar her for life.
My daughter's friend finds the fallen floral part of a Mimosa tree. It is pretty. For those not familiar, it is a multicolored threadlike little flower part, something that looks like it could be 'carried along on an eastern breeze of a summer eve.' in some Faulkner novel.
"This must be part of a Faerie dress!" says my daughter's friend incredulously.
"That comes from a Mimosa tree," I offer, thinking that maybe they might name the faerie mimosa, which sounds like a pretty cool faerie name to me.
"That is pretty, " agrees my daughter, "But Mimosa is an exotic invasive species so maybe the faeries might not like it."
Wow. She does listen to me sometimes. I hope it doesn't scar her for life.