I feast my eyes on the polished wood, with the rounded edges. I run my fingers over its smoothness. I contemplate it and try to imagine the shape and the size of what might be hidden inside. The phrases in my head: ‘box of treasures’, ‘box of delights’, conjure up romantic dreams, stories of Arabian Nights, or something unknown and delightful.
At a meeting of our writers circle we were asked to write about one of several objects on the table in front of us. The small wooden box caught my eye immediately and I started to think of John Masefield’s wonderful story of the Box of Delights. The wonderful thing about a closed box is the idea of something tempting and tantalising, holding a mystery that you cannot see from the outside. Like opening presents, it’s best to keep the suspense for as long as possible – to keep the secret hidden inside: to admire the wrappings, the bows, the accompanying message, to shake, to smell, to turn upside down (gently) and examine before opening it.
When I finally slide open the box, twisting the two polished halves from each other, and peer inside, I am not wrong. It was worth savouring the moment. I am captivated first by the colour and then by its iridescence, by the blend of softly shining blues, turquoises, greens and colours for which I do not have a name. The intricate patterns of the shell embedded in the wood and their soft sheen and pearly quality fascinate me. A real treasure.
I love surprises. I often dream of creating a garden with winding pathways and hidden surprises. A garden where you can take a walk down the path and find a hidden glade of bluebells, or some glorious white lilies of the valley, giving away their hiding place by their scent wafting on the breeze. In my garden you would stumble over a lily pond or a rambling rose, a honeysuckle entwined in the branches of an old tree …
Recently I celebrated a birthday and I spent the day tantalised by the sight of a large purple box, light as a feather but enormous, that had arrived a day or two earlier from a family member living abroad and been spirited away by my husband to be produced on the big day. I gasped as I saw it sitting there on the breakfast table, wondering what on earth it contained. No time to open it before my husband rushed out of the door to his place of work. No fun opening presents on your own so there it sat, purple on my red tablecloth, awaiting the end of the day when I could sit down, together with husband and pot of tea, ready to uncover the surprise.
I pondered on the purple box. A fragment of a poem flitted into my head – ‘purple with a red hat’- yes, that’s what I am supposed to wear when I am old! ‘When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, With a red hat which doesn’t go.’*! Perhaps this huge purple box, light as a feather, but concealing surprises, contains my red hat! Perhaps it’s time to get ready for that day when I add the red-hatted eccentricity of age to my life’s experiences. I already wear plenty of purple…
However, the best birthdays are full of surprises and this was no exception. Another present lay on the table, which I had earlier opened, as I sipped my early morning cup of tea. Carefully, I slid the cover off the long, narrow box. There inside lay 24 sticks of pure colour! As you will know by now, I love colour and there it was – pure, unadulterated colour in 24 glorious shades: oil pastels, just waiting for me to experiment. This box promised hours of absorbing, creative fun – another box of delights!
So, leaving my purple box where it lay, and thoughts of old age behind, I decided to rediscover my childhood instead and played with my new box of delights, crayoning to my heart’s content with my glowing colours to see what youthful creativity could concoct. The other box would have to wait and so would growing old!
* poem entitled ‘Warning’, by Jenny Joseph
At a meeting of our writers circle we were asked to write about one of several objects on the table in front of us. The small wooden box caught my eye immediately and I started to think of John Masefield’s wonderful story of the Box of Delights. The wonderful thing about a closed box is the idea of something tempting and tantalising, holding a mystery that you cannot see from the outside. Like opening presents, it’s best to keep the suspense for as long as possible – to keep the secret hidden inside: to admire the wrappings, the bows, the accompanying message, to shake, to smell, to turn upside down (gently) and examine before opening it.
When I finally slide open the box, twisting the two polished halves from each other, and peer inside, I am not wrong. It was worth savouring the moment. I am captivated first by the colour and then by its iridescence, by the blend of softly shining blues, turquoises, greens and colours for which I do not have a name. The intricate patterns of the shell embedded in the wood and their soft sheen and pearly quality fascinate me. A real treasure.
I love surprises. I often dream of creating a garden with winding pathways and hidden surprises. A garden where you can take a walk down the path and find a hidden glade of bluebells, or some glorious white lilies of the valley, giving away their hiding place by their scent wafting on the breeze. In my garden you would stumble over a lily pond or a rambling rose, a honeysuckle entwined in the branches of an old tree …
Recently I celebrated a birthday and I spent the day tantalised by the sight of a large purple box, light as a feather but enormous, that had arrived a day or two earlier from a family member living abroad and been spirited away by my husband to be produced on the big day. I gasped as I saw it sitting there on the breakfast table, wondering what on earth it contained. No time to open it before my husband rushed out of the door to his place of work. No fun opening presents on your own so there it sat, purple on my red tablecloth, awaiting the end of the day when I could sit down, together with husband and pot of tea, ready to uncover the surprise.
I pondered on the purple box. A fragment of a poem flitted into my head – ‘purple with a red hat’- yes, that’s what I am supposed to wear when I am old! ‘When I am an old woman I shall wear purple, With a red hat which doesn’t go.’*! Perhaps this huge purple box, light as a feather, but concealing surprises, contains my red hat! Perhaps it’s time to get ready for that day when I add the red-hatted eccentricity of age to my life’s experiences. I already wear plenty of purple…
However, the best birthdays are full of surprises and this was no exception. Another present lay on the table, which I had earlier opened, as I sipped my early morning cup of tea. Carefully, I slid the cover off the long, narrow box. There inside lay 24 sticks of pure colour! As you will know by now, I love colour and there it was – pure, unadulterated colour in 24 glorious shades: oil pastels, just waiting for me to experiment. This box promised hours of absorbing, creative fun – another box of delights!
So, leaving my purple box where it lay, and thoughts of old age behind, I decided to rediscover my childhood instead and played with my new box of delights, crayoning to my heart’s content with my glowing colours to see what youthful creativity could concoct. The other box would have to wait and so would growing old!
* poem entitled ‘Warning’, by Jenny Joseph
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