“See, Clara,” I pointed at the cover of the book I was reading to her. “This is a falcon.”

She leaned forward and smiled, “Oh, neat. It looks like a penguin.”

“What?” I turned the picture around to look at it again. “Are we looking at the same thing? I mean this bird here, the one swooping out of the sky with his claws out.”

She nodded. “Yes. It’s like a penguin.”

“It’s not like a penguin at all though. Penguins hardly even have wings. They can’t fly. You remember what a penguin is right? Like a slippery black hot dog? They don’t have talons or beaks like this. This is not like a penguin in any way.” I looked again. “A falcon is more like an eagle. Can you see that it looks like an eagle.”

She squinted at the book and shrugged. “I guess if you try really hard and have a very wild imagination you could say that looks like an eagle, but it looks a lot more like a penguin to me.”

I opened my mouth to reply, and then closed it and instead opened the book. “Okay… Alright… I’m sorry for having such a crazy imagination. If only I were more sensible like you…”

I sighed and then continued reading. “The boy stepped into the clearing and whistled. Out of the nearby tree swooped a sleek dark brown penguin which gracefully cut through the air and landed on the boy’s outstretched arm…”