Iris ran down Olive street and stopped at an intersection. The house streets, as her sister Hera would say, were all named after trees. She remembered that day she and Hera walked home from the park.
“Now repeat after me. Acacia, Cypress, Oak, Cedar, Sweetgum, and Olive,” instructed Hera. In those days, Iris was too tired to walk all the way home, so Hera would carry her four-year old sister on her back.
“akay-sha-sy-press-ok-see-dar-sweet-gum-ah-lev,” Iris knew the words by heart and recited them as if they were a line from a nursery rhyme.
“Good! And they all connect to Middle Crescent,”
“Middle Crescent,” Iris read the sign from where she stood.
“That’s the park street,” Hera’s words served as Iris’ guide. “It takes you all the way to the park.”
Iris looked down the long passage of Middle Crescent and wondered, “Does the magic eye work without people?” Instantly, she raised the magic eye and pointed it down the lane. Sure enough, it was no longer a row of boring track houses. The magic eye transformed her street into a mysterious garden path. The houses disappeared and rows of sculpted hedges took their place. She continued walking and with each new step she could feel the pavement crunch under her feet as if it were gravel.