Closets are a wonder and a terror, both – for childhood
A place for them to hide, or monsters – or even both?
A place to explore clothes, identities, and social roles in innocent dress-ups
To imagine who you might be, who your family are, and were
To begin to learn how to create stories
To begin a journey as a storyteller
To create a slice of your own, very personal “Narnia”
My closet was old already when I was young
Old already when my father was young
Warm brown wood with darkened brass hardware and a small inlay pattern
It was everything the BBC children’s tv said a magical closet should be
When I moved away from home I was unable to take it with me
In later years it was damaged beyond repair
There was a particular grief in that
But I remembered my childhood stories
Of salvaged wood, and magic, and how it was held in the wood.. not the closet itself
Knowing this
Believing this
I saved the doors
These days they live in a frame in my home
These days they aren’t technically a closet
But if you know your lore, and respect it
And remember the land between worlds and recall the true speaking of the deep magics
Then they will always be a door to magics, because they remember that they once were part of the forest
And for me?
The doors are to memory
Doors to that place of childlike wonder within
With the doors I still have a way back, should I ever find myself lost
{Onward and upward!}
