yesterday, esmé and i fed goldfish to our neighborhood fish. the turtles are partial to cheetos, if you're at all interested. i'm thinking you are not.
barbaric cannibal concerns aside, it's always a really relaxing chatty time for the two of us. until. all of a crazy sudden, this wacko-awkward silvery-gray giant of a stick-legged pointy-beaked bird thing swooped in. it was scowling.
i think i'm not a nature girl. i know, i know...but, karey! you grew up on a farm! yes. but i had allergies. i never went outside.
that's not really my point here, if we're optimistically hoping to reach one anytime soon. my point is that down and dirty back-to-my-roots is not my bag. i prefer high-end outdoor experiences. think four seasons forest.
and that disappoints me a little.
also. i'd like not to be the only one in my family who didn't know that mad bird was a heron. or a harry, as mémé calls 'em. as uninterested as i am in those sorts of details, a part of me would like to be that girl in fall fryes and an offhanded burberry, pointing upwards and saying something like look! a ruby-throated hummingbird in that red osier dogwood! oh, where's my camera?!
as it stands now, though, i'm the one traipsing through our woods counting crows and asking my almost-five esmé does this look like poison ivy?
ask me anything about resin bangles. i've got that down. you should remind me to show you the one uncle sugar bought me. i wear it every weekend, whether appropriate or not. cara croninger is cool, isn't she? xo.