I’ve been given a key.
A magical, wonderful, skeleton key.
There are treasure chests all around, and my key unlocks them all.
Sometimes smoothly, with a neat ‘click’ – and out jumps a cat in marvellous millinery, or a ravenous caterpillar.
Other times the key rotates with ponderous effort, like the mechanism is rusty. From these chests creatures emerge and form more slowly, revealing themselves in time.
With a mere turn of my key I can cure my confusion or eliminate my ennui.
The place I love best of all to take my key is here.
It is warm and there’s a hush of quiet.
The walls are lined with shelves.
The shelves are filled with chests.
The chests hold mysterious jewels awaiting discovery.
And sometimes, if I’m lucky, a treasure chest becomes mine.
I bring it home, to my room, where my own shelves are lined with chests.
I spend time with my new treasure. I delve into the contents. I discover amazing new things.
Thank you for my key.
I wonder what treasure I’ll open next.