As the imaginarian finished her dad reached a sock covered hand puppet into the doorway to mouth, "What's the haps?" He signed to his nonverbal daughter on the autism spectrum, "Here's a magic wand," presenting a small pot of soil with a twig clipped from the tree. "Roots are the brain of a plant, and even the heart pumping nutrients. Photosynthesis. That's fun to say. Fireflash, remember how sometimes your mom and I talk about after you were born, to celebrate your birth we went to buy a pink flowering cherry tree? There was only one floriferous cotton candy sapling left and it was small and split down the middle, but just felt like the perfect tree. And since then at least one flower has bloomed through all four seasons, even on Christmas morning, because magic happens every day." He gave his daughter the tiny cherry blossom. "If you put the flower between two sheets of paper and cover it with a heavy book it will press flat for your memory album where you can keep it always. Hey, nice drawing. It's like the eyes follow you."

Olivia placed the bubblegum pink flower on the sparkly character she created, then covered it with another sheet of paper and laid a thick collection of fairytales on top. After the arty who shared her mother's red hair was ready for bed her mom peppered her with kisses, tucked her in, and turned off the light. Dots of glowing phosphorescent paint that her dad speckled on the ceiling and walls twinkled to create an illusion of the room falling away under a star-spangled firmament. Goodnight, Petals, Olivia yawned thinking of her new imaginary friend on the desk.