My mother wrote this in response to my post: The Library’s Whispers
. It was so beautifully written, I could not relegate it to a mere comments page; it deserves a post of its own.
And though she says I was ‘forcibly deposited’, I cannot consider my soul misspent when it’s clear that mine was attracted to this century by a shining soul such as hers.
My darling daughter was somehow abducted by aliens and forcibly deposited in the late twentieth century. For that I willingly apologize, as who was to know that her soul was to be misspent here? Alas, how could I not also traverse this century?
Anna has a “blithe spirit”, a heightened “sense and sensibility”, often misspent on the hordes of common creatures of earth. I should rather like to put her in a library such as she has described and have her close…not only to visit that vast ‘spanse of library knowledge and dream works, but to daily visit that soul and spirit that is Anna.
My wish for her is to break the boundaries of common understanding and discover a life where she is free to write and enchant generations of young women who share the same aching desire to escape some of the harsh mundanity of this world.
She has so much to offer and it is her “obligation, nay, her duty” (finger pointed in the air) to interpret the goodness of the world and to discover the romantics of the 21st Century that exist in us all.
The genius of this piece is that it looks like a Mucha at first glance. Look again. Though not a huge Star Wars fan, I love Mucha and may have to order one myself.
La Dauphine Aux Alderaan
|The subtle light saber is the best part, in my opinion. Click link to order, only $14.57 for a 5″ x 10″.
By Karen Hallion Illustrations
My parents had a wonderful old cedar closet in their bedroom. It was so large that you could climb inside it and close the doors. After I read The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe at the age of seven or so, that’s exactly what I did. I had yet to grow so tall that I couldn’t tuck my knees under and stare out through the crack in the doors. Try though I might, I could never seem to find the way to Narnia. I would bump around my way through the dark, intoxicated with the smell of cedar, half suffocated in the folds of rayon and silk and wool, to rap and tap on the back of the closet.
I never found my way through the wardrobe, never met Mr. Tumnus by the lamp post, never chased a talking lion through the woods. And no, I was never Queen of Cair Paravel.
But to this day, occasionally, when I glimpse the wardrobe, which now stands in my own bedroom…I can’t help but wonder if today is the day I’ll return to Narnia.