The yarns presented a kaleidoscope of colors and textures.
I set out to gather my bountiful harvest into a basket, stopping for a moment to stand on a chair to see if I could see any of the airy band who had deposited my gift.
I quickly gathered up the colorful balls of yarn and returned to the house. Afraid the vision of the mercurial spirits would vanish from my memory as fast as these creatures had disappeared from my sight, I quickly drew a sketch of one of them from memory. He'd had ahold of a ball of purple yarn and, with a determined expression, was attempting to unwind it and wrest it loose from its nest in the cabbage leaves.
I made some blueberry pancakes for my family and shared the tale of my morning over breakfast. My two boys raised their eyebrows and the eleven-year-old one said, "Knitters are weird."
I haven't seen any fairies or sprites since that day, but I've taken to leaving them thimbles full of honey and diminutive powdered sugar cookies. Maybe their sweet tooth will draw them back, and the good-natured ones will leave more gifts to uncover in the early morning hours.