‘Elephants!’ we hear Silky Josephine say, the boys and I. 

She’s been finding them by the dozens. Ever since I read to her the story of Terra and Bella, the inseparable elephant and dog. In everything from dried leaves to her dinner dish. Even still, Peter Pan, Harley and I turn to where she points. You never know. And Silky sounds oddly certain.

‘Elephants! Elephants! Elephants!’ she says, dancing. 

And she is right. 

There, just above the horizon is a tribe, a herd, a caravan, a parade, trunk to tail, trunk to tail, gray and lumberous, gilded by the rising sun. Elephants. 

‘See?’ Silky asks.

'They're just ...' Peter Pan says.

'Elephants,' I interrupt. 'I do see them Josephine. I do.'  

And the four of us watch as slowly they fade into the day. 

Two Wrens have wintered in Carl and Priscilla’s nest above the back door. Franz and Hannah. In for the night, their tails poke above the rim of the feathered nest, like chopsticks, idle in some strange bowl of soup.