Dew-covered spider webs are actually fairy nets. Butterflies are flutterbyes.
Clara is 9 years old, slight, with wispy reddish-blonde hair and lots of giggles. But it’s her eyes, possibly the color of ferns or sage or tall grass — I can’t decide — that captivate me.
In Clara’s world, lizards do pushups, balloons fly away to find their friends, bubble baths sometimes take all afternoon. Wild berries must be eaten immediately.
And pretend head-butting with baby goats might be the funnest thing ever.
Clara, come back. I need you.