It was a peculiar thing, that little blue wooden chair. As soon as you sat down on it,
You would shrink to half your size. Starting bottom up, and to the tips of your toes, you would become the size you used to be many moons ago.
Of course, the effect was not to be had on children. They were already the right size. Because the chair knew something that grown ups did not. The chair knew how much better it was to be small. Just imagine! No taxes. No bills. No having to buy tins of beans and cook them for dinner.
But that’s impossible, you say. Of course, because you can’t imagine. You’ve lost that skill. And it is a skill, that little ones hone during their first few years, starting off as simple movements with nonsense babbling, evolving into amazingly detailed alternate realities, with themselves at the forefront, waving their hands around like an overzealous conductor, both in this world and theirs. For the imagination land does not exist if you are not there to experience it first hand.
And for that, I say sit down in the little blue wooden chair. You’ll see, soon enough.
(inspired by a little blue wooden chair I found on the roadside a few days ago, which now holds a pot plant in my lounge room)
(My little cavalier Zoe on the little chair)