As a child, I remember spending endless hours creating small worlds out of bits of this and that, dollhouses out of small boxes, neighborhoods out of styrofoam box inserts, gardens out of moss on trays.... The other day, one of my daughters asked to borrow my camera so that she could take a picture of a house she had made for her dolls because she was so pleased with how it looked and she (rightly) understood how transient it would be. So here is a very imaginative dollhouse (fairy house, if I remember rightly) made out of the crook of a branch, with a ladder of pipe cleaners, cookstove to the left, dining room table to the right, and bedroom balanced beautifully but precariously atop. What more does a fairy, or any kind of doll inhabitant, need? I hope its occupants enjoyed this unique dwelling during its brief life atop my son's craft table. Part of me wishes I still had time to make doll houses. But I suppose writing novels (I'm preparing to edit my fifth book) is another wa