Climbing the Tree
I am not a very good climber. I have no head for heights, and can fall off a chair as my mother used to say. But here I am at the foot of the enchanted tree with all manner of strange beings above me and somehow, from somewhere, I must find the courage to start my ascent.
I have brought a small bag with me, containing photographs of my loved ones, my magic laptop which works on solar power, a jar of drinking chocolate for comfort, my digital camera to record my experiences and a mirror with which to examine myself daily. I don;t understand why I thought to bring a mirror. Perhaps I think that I am going to undergo a change and I want to be able to see in my face and in my eyes how this change manifests itself? I just know that for some reason I need a mirror. I am not a beautiful woman. I am not at all interested in beauty products and I hardly ever wear make-up. The significance of the mirror will have to reveal itself in due course.
I stand at the foot of the tree. It looks like a giant old chestnut tree, branches spreading wide around it. The sunlight pours, dappled, through the leaves. I remember the story of Jack and the Beanstalk from my childhood, and how Jack found a giant living in the land at the top. I wonder who I will find living there.
I place my bag over my shoulder, and, with a prayer to the god of short-plump-climbing-women I start to climb, very slowly and carefully ........