For me there are no answers, only questions, and I am grateful that the questions go on and on. I don't look for an answer, because I don't think the… - P. L. Travers

Well, what is she, then? And where did she come from?” cried the Fledgling shrilly, flapping his short wings and staring down at the cradle.
“You tell him, Annabel!” the Starling croaked.
Annabel moved her hands inside her blanket.
“I am earth and air and fire and water,” she said softly. “I come from the Dark where all things have their beginning.”
“Ah, such dark!” said the Starling softly, bending his head to his breast.
“It was dark in the egg, too,” the Fledgling cheeped.
“I come from the sea and its tides,” Annabel went on. “I come from the sky and it’s stars, I come from the sun and it’s brightness — “
“Ah, so bright!” said the starling, nodding.
“And I come from the forests of earth.”
As if in a dream, Mary Poppins rocked the cradle — to-and-fro, to-and-fro with a steady swinging movement.
“Yes?” whispered the Fledgling.
“Slowly I moved at first,” said Annabel, “always sleeping and dreaming. I remembered all I had been and I thought of all I shall be. And when I had dreamed my dream I awoke and came swiftly.”
She paused for a moment, her blue eyes full of memories.
“And then?” Prompted the Fledgling.
“I heard the stars singing as I came and I felt warm wings about me. I passed the beasts of the jungle and came through the dark, deep waters. It was a long journey.

Feed the Birds, Tuppence a Bag!

I think if she comes from anywhere that has a name, it is out of myth. And myth has been my study and joy ever since — oh, the age, I would think . . . of three. I’ve studied it all my life. No culture can satisfactorily move along its forward course without its myths, which are its teachings, its fundamental dealing with the truth of things, and the one reality that underlies everything.