The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe
As a child, I would read a book and become consumed by the story. I read as I walked to school and have been known to bump into lamp posts and post boxes and apologise to them. I would take on the tragedy or the joy of the characters. One week, I would slay witches and devils with a silver dagger in my hand and the next, I would be a famous ballerina pirouetting along the pavement. When asked what I wanted to be when I grew up, the answer was never a secretary or a teacher. I wanted to be an explorer or a private detective, an artist (obviously starving in a garret in Montmartre) or a spy. With a book in my hand, I could be anyone or go anywhere I pleased. Like the children in The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, I could enter a fabulous new world by climbing into a fusty old wardrobe.
Lily went down the stairs to her parent’s bedroom. The curtains printed with bright copper leaves fluttered in the open window. She ran her hands down the fabric of her mother’s clothing that hung in the walnut wardrobe. She could smell ‘Midnight in Paris’, the scent that Mother wore. She climbed into her secret hiding place among the floral dresses – a perfumed midnight garden.
- Posted in: Uncategorized