In the corner of her playpen, as far from the Maple tree as she can be, Josie is huddled in that tiny way she does when she is frightened and wants to be seen by nothing and no one other than myself. 

'What is it Jo?' I ask, leaving my work to go to her. 

'Monster,' is all she can squeeze from her shivers as I let myself in to the pen, 'Monster.' 

And it must be a fearsome monster, too, because I look, kick through the grass, and can't find a thing, and everyone knows the more fearsome the monster, the harder they are to see.