Sweet, sweet daughter.
Thank you for parking your metallic purple dollar-store pinwheel in our front yard.
It has finally exited your closet, where it has been in hibernation for roughly half your life, during which time I’ve periodically tried to sell you on the appeal of this nice, old-fashioned, non-battery-operated-nor-wirelessly-connected toy.
I wasn’t hinting that it should become a garden ornament.
No worries. It’s growing on me.
You picked a perfect spot for it to catch the wind.