6-year-old me didn’t need to know the author’s name, although the gold-coloured Newberry medal on the cover intrigued, if only mildly .
What mattered then, to begin with, was the dread of the goblins, the treachery of milk turned sour, and the anguish of villagers.
More recently, the premise of this tale resurfaced in my conscience through such films as "How to Train a Dragon", although this edition was somewhat more redemptive and heartwarming.
In the goblin version, the hero’s wisdom amounts to a betrayal of a raindrop dance.
But today, the sunlight "dances between the raindrops" with a decidedly conciliatory vibrance.
ps: I will be fully grateful to the light that will be shone into my soul by the one who can recall the name and author of the story I am here struggling to recall 🙂