What Is Your Name Fairy?

I think seven is the perfect age. Of course I thought four was the perfect age too, but I was wrong. It's seven. The blossoming reasoning power combined with the perpetual wonder and belief in magic of the seven year-old make all the tired, wretched, frustrating trivialities of the adult day melt away.

Last night, just out of the shower after a long two hours at her school's holiday artist market, Jessie asked if she could please, please do something before bed. When I asked what, she solemnly told me that Ethan had told her that if you write "What is your name, fairy?" on a piece of paper and put it out in your yard with some crumbled bread, a fairy will come in the night and write her name and leave you a crystal. She added that you could do this the first time any night, but on subsequent times you had to do it on the night of the full moon...

I believe the fairy did write her name, but the rain washed it away. J will have to try again on December 12. Her father and I will have to stock up on crystals.