Malen'kiy rebenok, rozhdayas' v etot mir, polon neistrebimogo lyubopytstva, zhazhdy poznaniya, zhizneradostnosti i optimizma. Mir dlya nego - kak raskrytaya stranitsa, kak novaya knizhka skazok s tsvetnymi kartinkami... Kogda i kuda propadayut v rebenke ego krasota, ego bezgranichnyy optimizm, ego tselostnost' vospriyatiya mira i umenie emu udivlyat'sya i radovat'sya? Pochemu neredko imenno detskie vospominaniya vzroslogo cheloveka - samye boleznennye? Kogda babochka prevrashchaetsya v gusenitsu, a lebed' oborachivaetsya gadkim utenkom? Kogda i gde teryaetsya v rebenke vera v skazku, vrozhdennaya vera v chudo?... No samyy glavnyy vopros: kak mozhno vernut' chudo i skazku v zhizn' togo rebenka, kotorym my byli kogda-to sami i sokhranit' takim obrazom ikh v zhizni nashikh sobstvennykh detey?... Poprobuem poiskat' otvet vmeste...