I sat hidden on the wide windowsill behind the drapes in my room and thought about Ma. Best were Ma’s sweet smiles and her enchanting pretends, like collecting magical wishes in our aprons at dewtime and searching for fairy houses where the deep purple violets grew and the wind shushed in the hemlocks. Like leaving gifts for the fairies—tiny star and half-moon cookies, loaves the size of thumbnails, cloaks smaller than our little fingers. Ma loved all the invisible and gentle beings.
Hattie on Her Way
Clara Gillow Clark