![]() ![]() Wonder runs deeper than gaps in our knowledge. Learning, several years later, that the accessory was made by a human dampened my faith in the wee folk no more than the facts of childbirth shook my belief that babies come from heaven, trailing clouds of glory. I am blessed with parents who encouraged my imagination, and even my own neighbor who, on discovering a “Gnome Home” that I had constructed under the hedge, knit a tiny mitten from pearl cotton and left it there for me to find. I was quite sure that I had seen a fairy once and, besides that sighting, I had a whole store of evidence for the existence of the little people. ![]() In “The Child Next Door,” one of the poems that I read and reread when I was young, a girl describes her neighbor, a little sophisticate who, despite having a wreath on her hat and a bouffant afternoon frock, is only to be pitied: “But doesn’t it seem very sad to you, / to think that she never her whole life through / Has seen a fairy?” ![]()
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