This reminds me of my childhood. The frivolity in chaos captures it perfectly. My mother had a whimsical air about her when I was young. Perhaps it was the Irish, perhaps it was her name, the why of it is of very little consequence, but its presence was a treasure that made for adventure.
I was such a serious child, too afraid, but I believed in her magic. She created for me a world filled with elusive pixies and impossible beings. She inspired visions where everything was alive and waiting to be explored, and thus my trepidation would be overcome by my inquisitiveness and I would let myself be carried by the wind.