Kin

I'm always amazed

by the variety of colors

Hydrangeas can produce

on one bloom, and even each petal,

and how the color mutates on every bloom and petal until the blooming season is over.

One of my great grand-nieces, who is six, asked me how the blossoms could change color so much, even on one petal. I told her that at night the artists of the Faerie People come with their brushes and wave them over the petals to change the color to suit their fancy. She wanted to know why they didn't need to bring along their paints and palettes. I told her that they didn't need to because their imaginations were so powerful that they could make the colors flow from their minds right onto the brush and, with the flick of a wrist and as quick as the beat of a wing, the petal would look just the way they imagined it.

She looked at me and asked, "Why can't we paint like that?" I replied, "Oh, darlin', we're just mere humans. The Faery People have magic, you know that. But I do believe that every painter, every writer, every person who makes something good, something that wouldn't harm anyone, something that they've only seen in their imagination into reality...well, I believe the Faery People count us as kin."

She replied, "So, because I made a painting today and mama likes to write stories...that means we're related to Faeries?  Oh, I like that!  Wait until I tell Mama!"

Smiling, I said, "Sugar, I'm pretty sure your mama already knows."