Through the Dragon’s mouth

I’m not sure why but I was thinking about exercises like Pilates or Yoga, when you pull yourself into sometimes rather strange shapes, and that led into one of those through the wardrobe moments and a character I have always liked called Mr Tumnus.

Kneel down. First put both hands on the ground. Then you dip your right shoulder and thread your right arm under your left shoulder, as if it were a keyhole, or a dragon’s mouth. Now, pull yourself through.

Pfft.

A world of snow and ice. A forest heavy with snow. A faraway sky pricked with strange stars and down here the not-quite-full- darkness of night because of all of this white spilling out through the trees, deep and crisp, banked up here and scooped into a hollow there.  Man-size shapes frozen in white; one like a bear, up on its back legs; and leading right to where you stand, a line of holes, like black coins in the snow. Hoof prints?

Yours?

You have crooked legs, scratchy sweet-smelling fur, and your feet have the hard, neat horns of a goat. Feel your head, your face. A human head. A human face. Alright. And your hands. Alright. At least you are half what you once were.

But your body is cold. The air moves slow and cold through the forest.

You should be home, Mr T.

Wrap your long woollen scarf around your neck and hurry towards the light.

What world was it that you left behind? You don’t know anymore.

Whom did you betray this time?