a home for every season

Let’s talk about a Susan who never moved on, who buried her family in English soil and spent the rest of her life trying to find her way home. She did not believe lions were kind, but she always remembered a bow in her schoolgirl hands. She looked in every old wardrobe she came across. It was casual, everyday– the first day in a new lecture hall, she checked the back of the coat closet. Friends had her over for Christmas dinner and she excused herself to go the bathroom, checked every cabinet and closet, and then headed back in for pudding. She went home with a cute boy she met in a smoky little pub and she checked his wardrobe before she headed home the next morning, heels in hand. She also went to college, got a political science degree she had to fight for. She got a byline in the local paper, a few ladies’ magazines, then a larger regional publication. She had mimosa brunches with friends. She read detective novels, never touched fantasy, and finally one day she stepped through an old stone archway barely thinking about it and–- She was standing in a treeless plain, all yellow grass and blue blue skies. (Susan Pevensie goes to Middle Earth)