Sigyn has suggested that we take yet another nature walk, in view of the likelihood of another nasty cold front coming in tomorrow to yuckify the weather. Sigh. Nature is itchy and generally muddy, and the boring human female just natters on and on and on about plants until I want to sew her lips shut.
Still, I hate to refuse my dearest anything. She asks for so little, so I have (reluctantly) agreed. We are back out at the woodland park because, not content with the colored leaves we collected from the cultivated trees around the house, Sigyn wants to see what colors the native trees turn.
Now, this part of Midgard is not known for its fall color, so the results of our study go something like this: brown, tan, brown, goldish-brown, grayish-brown, brownish-gold, vaguely yellow, brown…
But this tree! Oh, this little tree! I must admit– it is quite a sight. Sigyn adores it (it’s red), and were it slightly less poke-y, I would be happy to perch in it for a good while. As it is, this tree is built for show, not comfort, so I am ready to depart.
The human female says it is called a “farkleberry.” Now she’s just making stuff up.*
* Humph! They call ME the God of Lies!