Imagination

How long had I been sitting there, staring out into the garden. The fresh green light flooded the room filling me with anticipation. It was still early. I felt restlessness flood over me like sunlight breaking from behind the clouds. I wanted to go, I needed to go.

I stood and shrugged on my coat. I felt in the pockets, a handkerchief, the crumbled remains of some dry leaves I had forgotten about, my wallet, a handful of mint humbugs, nothing more. I stepped out of the French windows into the enveloping green of the garden, and didn't look back.

A train rushed through the station, metallic thunder of iron on iron filled the building. A blast of cold wind jolted my senses. I had a ticket in my hand, I didn't remember buying. It didn't matter; it would take me away from here. Ever further away.

The platform was gloomy and barren apart from a young couple, standing by a pile of cases, and a porter, hunched into his collar, trying to avoid a chill. Even before my train pulled in, every second I waited, I felt like I was already speeding away. Even standing still I was moving forwards.

The train was busy. I jostled for space as I walked the aisle looking for a seat. There was an old man, in ragged clothing, hunched under a crumpled newspaper. The seat next to him was vacant. Around him people stood rather than sit next to an old tramp. But what did it matter to me. I took the seat. He glanced up, a little surprised, the other passengers watched, I felt the thrill of fear pass through them as they wondered what the old tramp might do to me. The carriage exhaled as one as he just grunted and adjusted his newspaper coverings.

The sway of the train and the dull rhythm was monotonous. I glanced out past the dosing tramp and glimpsed rooftops, back yards, industrial yards, slipping past. I slept and woke in another land.

Gone were the towns and factories, gone also was the tramp. In fact the carriage was almost deserted now, reflecting the empty landscape of rolling hills racing past outside the window. I stretched, and breathed a deep inhalation of the foreign air, and smiled. I was somewhere new.

I exited the train at the next stop. I had no idea where I was, the characters written with such flourish on the station sign could not enlighten me in my ignorance. A man driving a cart, pulled by some huge, sweating, snorting, horned beast, was urging the animal out of the station yard and on to a dusty road. I mimed my need to him and he cheerfully helped me up onto the footplate.
We had no language in common, so enjoyed the rattling ride in companionable silence. The scene before me was so new, the passing fields of red ploughed earth, the dry thorny trees, the bony cattle, all so unfamiliar. Yet to the man at my side, the very same sights were so unerringly commonplace as to elicit no excitement from him. Yet he seemed completely content.

We departed ways at a village built of white stone and red tile. The main street was dry and dusty, there was a market. A few people sat at the sides of the road with their wares on barrows, but few people were buying. A middle-aged woman sat behind a cart stacked with a multitude of fruits. Her hair was stacked untidily on her head in an attempt at a bee-hive and she wore bright badly applied make-up in what could almost have been a parody of a glamour girl. Sitting selling fruits in this dusty backwater, her hopes and dreams must have passed her by, yet from her posture, from her own poorly done make-up, she had pride and spirit still. And I wondered if maybe, she wasn't better off here, with her dignity still intact, than if she really was a faded glamour girl.

She smiled at me as I passed, spreading her hands wide across her wares, inviting me to try a fruit. I indicated I had no money. She shrugged and handed me an orange fruit in the shape of an apple. She had little yet she had dignity and generosity in spades. I thanked her, my gratitude surpassing the language barrier.

Time passed and I left the humble village. I walked on, walked a long dirt road which led me to the forest. It was like a wall before me, rising so sudden and dark from the dry plain, and the road disappeared into it, like a mouse-hole in a skirting board. And I felt like a mouse, scurrying towards that portal, though beyond it, I did not find safety. I walked on swiftly, no way of knowing how far I had to go. It felt like I had entered the wildwood of the world, with all the planets trees, from ancient history into the far future gathered here in this one place.

There was something in the forest, something watching me. I could feel its eyes on me. I strained to hear anything which might tell me where it was, but could hear nothing but the pounding of my own heart.

I got the sense that I was in its forest, and it didn't want me there. I stood like stone, trying to will myself out of existence, trying to control my fear. But the fear was something that came from deep inside, as if passed down to me from some distant ancestor who had once lived in such primal weald.

Then I glimpsed it. A shimmer of leaves, a flash of shadow, a swirl of mist. I heard the crunch of leaf litter and the odour of the beast assaulted my senses, the scent of rotting meat and spring blooms all mixed as one. It was stalking steadily away from me; I glimpsed its graceful silhouette, an afterimage on my retina. The dread washed out of me and I felt relief, and thanks. It seemed I had been granted passage.

Suddenly sunbeams slanted through the hovering mist, illuminating the golden leaves of the trees. It was like an image from a storybook, so mystical and surreal I found it hard to believe that something so beautiful could exist. The light changed, the mist cleared, and it was gone, the darker, more malevolent tones and hues of the forest returned and I wondered if I'd dreamed it.

The forest ended as suddenly as it had begun. I was ejected out from the foliage onto bare rocky ground, and over a rise I saw the glint of sunlight atop the towers of a city. Already behind me the forest had dropped out of view, if I retraced my steps, I wondered if it would still be there. But my feet carried me forwards.

After the silence of the forest, the bustle and colour of the city was an assault to my senses, yet the solitude I had felt, alone in the wildwood remained. I knew no one here and no one wanted to know me. Though we rode the rattling, clanking tram together I was invisible. Some chattered in a lyrical foreign tongue, only accentuating my isolation. Most looked out upon their city with weary eyes, alone as I was, in their own world.

I sought sanctuary from the bustling, lonely streets in a museum. Some ancient palace of a building, all domes and tiles and intricate lattice worked panels. A fitting home to the beautiful treasures of history and nature. It was almost deserted. I walked the long halls, past dusty displays and long forgotten treasures, my echoing footsteps the only sound.

A glimmering mask of beaten gold inset with gems caught my attention. I stared, captivated, into its black eyeholes and wondered about the person who had once worn it. 'The mask of the first king' the plaque read. He had founded this city millennia ago, had seen promise in this distant kingdom and had built it to a place of power and wealth. Now crumbling to the dust and corruption of modernity, what would he make of his city now, I wondered. I could almost feel his sadness as I gazed at the hollow mask.

The city was built on the shores of a lake. I walked to the port through dirty back alleys and crowded shanty towns feeling contained and claustrophobic. It was a relief to feel the onshore breeze in my face and see wide open space beyond the bobbing ship masts.

It was a simple task to find passage among the many ships that crowded the harbour, especially for one who does not care the destination. I chose a weather-worn but sturdy little cargo scow. The wind blew strong and we made swift progress. It was a mighty lake that rolled with waves that would have been the pride of any ocean. After the first day aboard we had sailed far enough that I could see no land on any side, even though I knew it lay to all points of the compass.

There was no room aboard for passengers so I pulled my weight where I could, and slept atop the deck on sacks of grain and rolls of cloth. There was only the sound of the creaking rigging and the lap of the water on the hull.

A cry went out; 'land ahoy' we all rushed to look. A thin line of green and grey rose from the water. A shallow island, I wondered. It had no trees or shrubs however and seemed unnaturally flat. As we drew near we saw why. It was not land but a huge raft of vegetation floating on the lake. It looked solid yet undulated on the water's surface. One of the boatmen climbed out of the boat and walked atop the raft, the others grinning at his daring. We skirted the great mass and sailed onwards. My hands became calloused from hauling on the rough rope, my skin tanned from the sun.

I sat on the prow and watched creatures from the depths rise and play in our bow waters. A leviathan rose beside us blowing out a great breath of warm moist air. I would have cried out aloud in fear were it not for the sailor at my side, gripping my arm, warning me with a gesture to stifle my cry. Its gaping mouth could have swallowed our tiny craft whole, and its body was many lengths as long as our boat. It would have rivalled even the mightiest sea whale in size. Its body was like a rocky island as it surfaced, grey craggy wrinkled skin, alive with parasitic life and swathes of weed. A huge eye rolled above the water's surface and looked into mine. I felt my own insignificance.

It slipped beneath the surface with a grace that belied its size and left our boat writhing in its wake. When the rocking finally subsided I saw the sailors all checking their amulets and praising their gods. They had seen the leviathan and lived. I had neither amulets nor gods but I felt graced all the same.

I ended my passage in a quiet bay. Further along the lake finally reached its limit in a towering wall of ice. The tongue of a glacier drank from the lakes edge. I had boarded in sweltering heat, but my breath misted on the freezing air as I watched the sail of the scow disappear over the horizon.

A small town sat around the bay of squat houses of fisher folk, welcoming but silent people. One guided me up to see the glacier one chill afternoon. The ancient ice shone blue even on such a gloomy day as if containing a radiance within. We listened to the cracking ice as it crawled down the valley to the lake by imperceptible increments.

He left me to make my own way back, but onward was where I was headed. Though I had no destination in mind, I could feel I was getting close now. The glacier cut through bare black rock leaving jagged wounds. Snow lay in thick the crevices but wind scoured the rest of the mountainside bare. I climbed, the icy air was painful in my chest but I kept on. My muscles began to cry out for rest, my legs shaking with every step. I pushed on and on. Ice and rock met cloud. I saw nothing, my skin was numb with cold, I'd reached the end of the line, maybe even the end of the world. Where would I go from here? I closed my eyes.

I awoke.

I was home, sitting in the chair before the window. My coat lay discarded on the bed. The afternoon sun was warm on my skin, birds sang merrily from the garden. I shifted, easing muscles stiff from inactivity. I smiled. So good to be home after my journey.

No need to move from my chair, to reach the horizons of my imagination.