New Year's Eve. Last night I shivered uncomfortably in bed, this morning a nurse stuck a cotton swab up my nostril and poked around in my brain. So this New Year's Eve I'm celebrating completely on my own, in quarantine just in case. Not something I usually do.
But I have halloumi pasta, a glass of whiskey and the complete Chronicles of Narnia. Aslan the lion is singing a new world into being as colours rain down and a beeswax candle is dripping.
The Lion opened his mouth, but no sound came from it; he was breathing out, a long, warm breath; it seemed to sway all the beasts as the wind sways a line of trees. Far overhead from beyond the veil of blue sky which hid them the stars sang again; a pure, cold, difficult music. Then there came a swift flash like fire (but it burnt nobody) either from the sky or from the Lion itself, and every drop of blood tingled in the children's bodies, and the deepest, wildest voice they had ever heard was saying:
"Narnia, Narnia, Narnia, awake. Love. Think. Speak. Be walking trees. Be talking beasts. Be divine waters."
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