Fleegle and I are in the backyard. I’m reading. He’s sniffing around the grass.
“Raud, I think I can see your aura,” he says, his head cocked to the side as he stares at me.
“That’s just the sun setting behind me.”
“The sunset is red, your aura is blue. Are you feeling blue?” he asks.
“Maybe a little, but I don’t know if aura color is connected to one’s mood. What if my aura was pink? What mood would that be?”
“That would be the aura of someone in the mood for some strawberry yogurt. It’s pink.”
“Then wouldn’t blue mean it was time for some blueberries?”
“I don’t know, Raud, are you hungry for blueberries?”
“Now that you mention it, blueberries with vanilla yogurt sounds pretty tasty right now and it’s almost time for lunch.”
“So that’s what it means to be blue,” he says. “I like that better than being sad.”
“Can you see your own aura?” I ask.
“Yes, it’s red. It’s the red of a rare steak. After you eat your yogurt, can we barbecue for lunch?”
“Are you sure it’s not the red of an apple or a raspberry?”
“No. Steak, barbecue steak. Fire up those briquettes, Raud.”