The girl with the daisy pants

This evening, as the golden sun was fading into the earth, I went inside the house. I was going to close myself up and have a night of writing so I could meet tomorrow’s deadlines. But the window was open and I could see the orange flickers of sun between the branches and leaves outside, and that was the end of any real work. Like a little girl needing to play outside, I called my sister to see if Sophia, my niece, could come outside. She was in the middle of math equations. But if I was slacking off, surely she could, too — at least until the sun said goodnight.

I arrived with my pooch on her leash, my cameras and a pair of flowered bell bottoms I’d found at the thrift store. Sophia loved them when I showed them to her months ago, but we hadn’t found the time to do anything with them.

Sophia used to tell me she wants to be a hippie when she grows up, as a profession. I tried to explain that it’s not really a profession, at least not a smart one. She decided she’ll be a veterinarian then, a hippie veterinarian.

So tonight we walked around the neighborhood, trying to find the last of the light. Within two blocks, we also found a cool motorhome, an abandoned couch and a rusted Ford.

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