vaneramos

Brenna frequently reminds me of one of the Mystics from The Dark Crystal. It's partly her posture, partly her fascination with small objects on the ground, and partly her capacity to sit for long periods without doing anything of consequence, which was, of course, the Mystics' greatest gift.

It is a perfect summer day: warm with a refreshing breeze. Brenna spends a while sitting in the branches of Old Man Willow, feeling his limbs rock gently, while I poke around photographing little and big things. Cicadas drone and red-eyed vireos warble relentlessly, a kingfisher darts silently upstream, and a bemused catbird utters a sudden interrogative overhead.

Brenna: "I like trees today."

Me: "It's a good day to be a tree."

Brenna: "They have big hair. When I grow up I want to be a tree. Or a hobo bent on world conquest."

Me: "You'll need a degree in photosynthesis."

Brenna: "Maybe that's what PhD stands for."