Standing stock-still, whether in wonder or terror, does little for the circulation, particularly if there's a nip in the air that can make your nose run and your eyes smart, as mine were beginning to do, in defiance of the sunshine that had made contact with my person. But rather than resuming my habitual pace and walking on, as anybody normal would have done, I decided to take refuge in the wardrobe. To tuck myself behind the embossed door that was closed, and looked as if it would forever remain so.
To what purpose? That I can't tell you. Not even now, in hindsight, when I've had time to pull apart the events of that fine, crisp morning. To rest, to take shelter would seem obvious, but I can't say that was my conscious, or overriding, thought. I don't usually loiter on my constitution, not unless it's glorious, as in heavenly and warm, outside, as well as dry underfoot. No, I don't remember there being a thought at all, it was more of a magnetic attraction: invited by its yawning door to look, to get inside.
Where I thought it might smell of mothballs and where I might be able to avail myself of an extra layer. It didn't; it had a mild smell of damp and resin. And I couldn't, for the coat, although realistic, on closer inspection was craved from wood like the wardrobe itself. Though wood of a different kind I thought as it was lighter in tone, like the camel, wool-lined coat my nan used to wear before it was kept as a spare and before it was handed down to my mum. I think she still has it somewhere...? It's amazing the mundane thoughts that pass through your mind when confronted with the incredible.
It wasn't much warmer inside for part of a back panel was missing, through which could be seen the forest floor and was big enough for a child or small adult to crawl under. Of course, a woodland creature, say a squirrel or a rabbit, would have managed it with greater ease. Naturally, I tried, and succeeded after some breathing in and tugging, though I could have gone back out the way I came: through the fixed open door, but this felt adventurous, and I had convinced myself that by doing so I would be transported to another land, like in the C.S Lewis story, or at least to another part of the forest.
Nothing like that occurred (the unimaginable rarely does, which is weird when you can think it, make it up and even believe in it), but I did, after brushing myself down, righting my apparel and straightening up, resume my walk in an entirely new direction, with the back of the wardrobe as my starting point, and in spite of the little adult voice in my head saying: you could have saved yourself the trouble and gone around.
I set off with renewed vigor and warmed by the exercise, not knowing where I was going or what I was making for, which was quite frankly downright dangerous and stupid since I was quite alone and without any provisions should I get lost, although of course since I'm telling the tale you know I didn't, though I will shortly, as in 'sling yer hook', once this story's over. Still, such a move was reckless of me, and unusually so.
The woods, in this part, (I was choosing to delude myself at this point), seemed awash with sunshine, a stronger light than I previously come from so that everything green was shot through with it. I had to walk with my eyes down or shielded with a gloved hand, which meant I very nearly missed the stately witch, and a little further on the majestic lion, who I thought had a kind but troubled countenance, whereas the witch had had an artful expression. It was obvious she had the upper hand, and ruled this land as if she were a cousin of the Snow Queen, since those who find her, and only her, frequently repeat the journey.
