From the window, Thalia watches the forager munch a piece of apple. “Lehhhht’s get a photo!”
Calliope slips into her boots and out through the sliding glass door.
Nią crouches and creeps.
Sensing something amiss, the possum turns and hightails it into the brush.
“Oh whelllll —” Thalia pulls out the paints, "now we gehhhht to make one!”
It is odd but agitation or contest of any kind gives a rebound to my spirits and sets me up for a time.