She dropped her responsibilities, one by one, into the stream. They floated, giving her pause, for she expected them to sink. She gave her head a shake and ran off into the forest, forgetting all about them and relishing her freedom.
The current carried her cares into an eddy formed by rocks, and there it washed them clean and kept them safe. Hours passed before she returned to claim them.
As she plucked them, one by one, from the stream, she marveled at how little they weighed. Hadn’t she grown weary beneath their burden a few hours ago? She smiled, skipping home again, ready to take on the world or half of it at least.
She will not be so easy to classify, to stuff inside a box and affix with the perfect label. She will resist her taming, and climb all over sensibilities with the wicked mischief of her imagination. She will dream it all and make it happen with the strength of her will. She will fight and question and be a wild thing, dancing her way through silence. And if you ever cross her, she’ll fill your tea with fairy droppings and you’ll never be the wiser.
When she’d had enough, she boarded her petaled boat and sailed away on a convenient tide. She took her magic with her, willing herself not to care that the land would soon be empty of stories and hungry for wonder. She set her course by a shooting star and the memory of a waking dream. Where she might end up she did not know. This, of course, offered half the adventure and all the fun.