The following weekend, Leah tried to find her way back to where she’d first met Ethel. The sky was overcast and a light mist clung to the hills, one of the first days of autumn, a time when the spikey flowers that grew on buckeye trees near the entrance to the canyon were replaced by brown nuts. The woman in the rock store had told her that the nuts were poisonous, but native peoples used to eat them if they ran short on acorns.
“How do you know so much?” asked Leah.
“I’m a lot older than you think,” laughed the woman.
Today, at the entrance to the grove, she saw even more yellow tape that was stretched between two pine trees that blocked the entrance. She scooted beneath the tape and looked over her shoulder to make sure that no one saw her. This past month in school it was hard to pay attention because she kept thinking about Ethel and the Glimmerine. She’d even told Miss Meow. There were no signs at the entrance to the pathway, except one that said “Keep Out. Private Property.” But if she was going to see Ethel again, she had to go there. Trees arched above her head and ferns grew thick along a stream. Blackberries stuck out like red tongues, but not ripe enough to eat. A few pine needles got stuck in her socks. Leah bent down to pull them out.
“Well, well, look who finally got here.”
“There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“You sure took your time,” Ethel glimmered, sounding very grown-up for such a little person. She put her hands on her hips and kicked some glimmer from a tree branch on to Leah’s head that felt like an egg dripping down her face.
“I was busy.”
“That’s what I hear other people always say.” Ethel pouted, and then looked over her shoulder at Leah’s face, crossed her arms and folded her wings together.
Leah stepped toward her. “Do you think you could show me where the calendulas grow?”
“It’s way past season,” said Ethel. “They don’t grow anymore.” Leah was disappointed. She’d looked forward to tasting a few petals with her new friend. Ethel zipped open a pocket beneath her wing. “But I’ve saved a few.” She came down from a branch and found a spot beneath the pine trees where the needles had a dry, sweet smell.
“They’re wonderful,” Leah ate a few petals, and Ethel had been right–very tasty on a cold day.
“Now you are an honorary Glimmerine.” But suddenly the she turned away from Leah and became sad.
“What’s wrong?” Ethel just shook her head. “It is because there are no more calendulas?”
“I only said that the flowers weren’t growing anymore,” she said, “not that I didn’t have any more. That would be stupid. Even squirrels hide their acorns.” Ethel jumped up and spun around.
“Then what is it?” Ethel didn’t glimmer, not one word. She turned a paler bright orange. “Please tell me. Whenever I become sad, it always helps when I tell someone.”
Ethel dug her feet beneath the pine needles and didn’t say a word. Then she cleared a space on the ground and drew a picture with a twig. “The Glimmerine are disappearing because people keep cutting down our trees. Now they are going to cut down all the pine, buckeye, and bay trees. That’s why they keep wrapping everything in that yellow stuff. We’ve listened to the mean talk. It’s happened in other places, too. Why don’t you tell them to stop?”
“Me?” said Leah, thumping to her chest. “They won’t listen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I’m a kid.”
“What do you mean you’re a kid?”
“I’m not grown yet. I live with mother and father.”
“You can’t take care of us?”
“It’s just can’t stop them from cutting down the trees.”
Ethel kicked up dust and threw pine needles everywhere turning everything around her into a puddle of glimmer. “But that’s why I found you.” she said. “Most of the Glimmerine have gone to live with Alphonsa and Zachariah, the oldest trees in the world. You have to fly to get there. All of us will have to leave and we’ve never made such a long trip. I’m not sure we’ve collected enough calendulas to get there.”
“But you said…”
“I know what I said. But the calendulas aren’t just food–they give us the power to fly. Anyway, no need for you to worry. They’re not cutting down your house.”
“But I want to help,” said Leah. “I care.”
“Everyone who lives near you are too busy to care,” said Leah. Ethel shook her head. “Everyone is too busy to care.” She glimmered her orange wings and flew into the misty hills.
https://vkh.xem.mybluehost.me/2011/12/30/some-links-to-my-work/