The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

My younger and hilarious brother, Ab, has always stated with unshakable vehemence that he has no interest in getting involved with any of my eccentric photo-storytelling projects, a statement of undeniable concrete conviction which I have diagnosed to be a result of that universal reason that underlies all sibling rivalries, and that is purely that I occupy the role of the big sister and therefore I must be rebelled at! But, as the whole of the world knows, Ab loves me a lot, though give him a million pounds and he will still refuse to put it into words, and, to be frank, to not hear him say it implies in my mind that he regards our bond with such genuine affection that words would become as crutches to something that goes far deeper.  Oh – and he always sticks free tickets and luxury cups of tea whenever I go to his cinema – the only one in Winchester – and consistently ensures with the penetrating eye of a hawk that I secure premier seats of the house! If that is not brotherly love than I do not know what is! Giggle, giggle!

Now and again miracles materialise before me that snatch away my breath and I am forced to pinch my own skin to reassure myself that I am awake. Yesterday, just before my girly adventures were to begin with Agnes and Chiara, Ab announced that he wished to volunteer to be part of my book project. It felt as if someone had pulled the carpet away from underneath my feet and I was tumbling down into the rabbit hole of an exotic and strange new world, for my brother had never ever shown the slightest needle-prick curiosity in my artistic endeavours! I could not believe my ears and I reckon I must have blinked several times in quick succession, my lashes fluttering like the wings of a butterfly about to set off into the air!

Ab, you want to do WHAT?!” I was on the verge of bowling over. The excitement had shot up through my spinal cord with the speed of an electric eel swimming upstream into my brain!

Yeah, I’ve seen the pictures. Looks like you really mean it, you really want people to think about the books they’ve read.” Ab’s eyes glittered with a rare sparkle of thoughtfulness, he had let his guard down a little this time and I saw that he had been hiding for a quite a while his true feelings about my book project. He saw merit in my humble work and now, he too, wanted to be part of it.

That is amazing! Yes, yes, I DO want you to be part of the circle!” I was overjoyed and remembering that I had to meet Chiara and Agnes at 2pm I did not waste a moment in negotiating a suitable time for the shoot with Ab. I asked him, breathless and with a tiny prance jingling in my feet, when would be convenient for him and was there a book floating in the bathtub of his mind.

It would be awesome if you could come up to the cinema. I am a showman and that would be the best place for me to show-off the book I have got for you”. Ab took a step back and I saw that he had already chosen his book and it lay there in his room, the laminated cover reflecting off what little sunlight was pouring through the windows. I came closer and peered down to face the cover. I had read it too and thoroughly enjoyed every moment of it.

Yes, the original prince of darkness, Dracula. Will that do?” The pride and authority in his voice spoke volumes, and I was ineffably touched that my younger brother could be so spectacularly sincere when he wanted to be. If my memory served me correctly, Ab had read the book more times than myself, three to be precise, and his ability to recollect specific passages from the text is extraordinary, another indication that this piece of gothic Victorian novelisation had made a profound impression on him.

Of course it will do, you nitwit! Right, I am meeting my friends at 2pm so…..” I let my voice trail away into silence, hoping that he would fill it in with what I wished to propose, and that was if it was at all possible to squeeze in the shoot just before my appointment with my mates.

Meet me in the cinema at 1.30pm and we can have the auditorium to ourselves, how is that for you?” Ab wore a smug grin on his face, he knew he had hit the nail on the head with his flashy proposition and too right was he, for I think I was going to bounce and ricochet off the walls, that is how exuberantly happy I was! A stylish shoot in an auditorium in the most plushy, deluxe and vintage-themed cinema in Hampshire and who ran it – my brother, Ab! Yeeeehaaaaaaaaa!!!

Whilst I finished off the last of the paperwork Ab trotted off to work and to just observe him carefully sliding his copy of Dracula into his satchel made me feel tender with sisterly love, confirming once again that it was what we did for others that would always contain the truest portrayal of our relationship with each other. My brother Ab, always complaining about his bossy old sister, looked out for me without letting me know that he did. Right there and then I felt as warm as a billion buttercups on sunny day!

So, who was this ‘Prince of Darkness’, whom the author, Bram Stoker in 1897, came to name as ‘Dracula’, the eponymous title of the most famous gothic fiction ever penned? The front cover of Ab’s edition of the book depicts a monochrome illustration of a sinister elderly man with a long and pointy face, whose eyes are slanted to one direction and eerily fixed on someone and such is his penetration of gaze that it already suggests to us that it is something our anti-hero regards with predatory desire. The image is silent and it appears to be a creature of the night, adept at the art of concealing himself behind ghoulish shadows and cloaking wisps of mist and fog. Though he is a solitary figure of darkness, one glance at the cover and You know that here is an entity who is a wielder of mysterious and supernatural forces, potent enough to defeat whole armies of men in one foul swoop, without leaving a trace and therefore stalling even an inkling for detection.

Count Dracula, Prince of Darkness, was a vampire, not alive and nor dead, he existed in the tormented limbo land of the undead, forever thirsting for the blood of the living. In Stoker’s tale, our anti-hero goes on to hatch an elaborate plot to convert more humans into becoming and joining his frightening kind and thus expand his empire of terror. Hailing from the mountains of Transylvania, Dracula sets out to England by sea and, using his exceptional skills of articulation and artifice, he acquires multiple estates that are to become his breeding grounds for feeding on the blood of the living and hence spread the seed of the curse. After a string of inexplicable and murderous deaths, a group of men, led by Professor Van Helsing, vow to bring the creature to his death.

It is very much a male-orientated story but I do admire Stoker’s inclusion of a female protagonist, Mina, and despite the restrictions and traditional views of women in Victorian England, the author displays a brave deviation from customary thinking by asserting Mina’s importance in the narrative. She is in effect a detective, piecing together articles with an eye for chronological accuracy and establishing curious patterns and links which she then relays to Van Helsing’s team. Most importantly, after repeated attacks made on her life by Dracula, Mina begins to develop a psychic bond between herself and the creature, and the team are swift in realising that they could extract vital information from Mina to help them track down Dracula after a blow to his evil plans forces him to flee back to Transylvania. Crossing vast swathes of continents, the entire team led under the command of Van Helsing reach the harsh and windswept foothills of Dracula’s castle and so begins a bloody battle between the forces of Good and Evil.

But, I have always thought of my Prince of Darkness in a rather different way. He might have not always been a creature of the dark and the walking dead. What if someone harbouring a malignant and depraved thirst for destruction had ensnared his innocent soul, and polluted his thoughts with the blackness of coal and made him forget about the warm light of the Sun? Vampires cannot tolerate the Light under any circumstances, and they will always find ways to shield and protect themselves from its life-affirming rays. Traditional folktales are rampant with vampires who are incinerated into cinders as the rise of the dawn blasts with pure triumphant joy, turning the fierce blood-thirsty beast into no more than a pile of idle ash. Yet, I refuse to cower in resignation and accept that this is wholly true. I will implode if I do not let it in my heart to believe that in every vampire that ever once lived as a human must, somewhere in the abyss of their being, remember what it felt like to walk under the grace of the oak and elm trees as the morning light seeped through their swaying dome of leafy green petals. Nothing is ever born evil or dark or shadowy, it was made like so.

I arrived at the cinema and swished my head to turn to the clock which informed me that I had 15 minutes to complete the shoot before heading out to meet Chiara and Agnes. Whatever I had to do I had to do it quick, no faffing about!

Come on then!” Ab held the book in a way that suggested that he had wrote it, I think when You have read something so many times You do at some point begin to think that it was never written by anyone, it simply came out of Your own reading! My brother seemed to know exactly what to do as he escorted me into the large, empty auditorium. I had no tripod in my kit so he very kindly switched all the lights on to full blast and then scooted off to various seats and sat down reading away his favourite passages from the book. I nearly laughed out my tongue when he showed to me how he had reacted to certain twists in the plot, he is no actor, yet I have to issue him a salute for his dashing bravery in risking his gentlemanly reputation just so that You can take a peek at how this book caught his attention by the hooks! The very last photographic still in the gallery below was the one I had requested of him and at the time I did not tell him my reasons for the bizarre composition, I rather he read it now with everyone else. Turning his head up towards the brilliance of the spotlight I instructed Ab to hold the pages out towards the light. My brother was rightfully confused but he could not be bothered to argue with me, our time was running out just as Dracula’s was when the battle outside his fortress began to be bathed in a new dawn.

Like this, is that ok with you?” Ab was somewhat disorientated by my orders, yet I could sense that he knew I was up to something and that it would pan out just fine in the end.

That will do very nicely, and just stay like that.” As I came down to press the shutter button, I could sense that I had led someone, who had spent far too long a time in the bowels of darkness and despair, at last into the embrace of the Light. If there was anything that contained both the gravity of a tear and the liberation of a smile, I had become that. The vampire had gone for good, and all that remained now was a man and he still yearned to drink and drink forever:

From the cups of my snow white hands, life and the holy book of tea… ♥♥♥ 

The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

“… The front cover of Ab’s edition of the book depicts a monochrome illustration of a sinister elderly man with a long and pointy face, whose eyes are slanted to one direction and eerily fixed on someone…”

The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

“… I think when You have read something so many times You do at some point begin to think that it was never written by anyone, it simply came out of Your own reading…”

The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

“… The image is silent and it appears to be a creature of the night, adept at the art of concealing himself behind ghoulish shadows and cloaking wisps of mist and fog…”

The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

“… I nearly laughed out my tongue when he showed to me how he had reacted to certain twists in the plot; he is no actor, yet I have to issue him a salute for his dashing bravery in risking his gentlemanly reputation just so that You can take a peek at how this book caught his attention by the hooks…”

The Prince Of Darkness, Dracula: How Ab And I Ushered Him Into The Light!

“… As I came down to press the shutter button, I could sense that I had led someone, who had spent far too long a time in the bowels of darkness and despair, at last into the embrace of the Light…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Everyman Cinema | Winchester | UK 2016

You, Dear Majnun, Are My Cup Of Tea!

In the cuddly lexicon of informal British language we have an age-old and highly esteemed phrase that goes along the lines of “it is my cup of tea” or, alternatively, “it is not my cup of tea”. Do not be misconceived by the natural function of Your tendency to load aboard the literal visage of these words, for here we do not imply that we are fiercely headway into battle over ownership of cups of tea, although I do admit if anyone were to dare to lay a finger over my teapot set I would not hesitate a fraction of a second to wallop them with my bathroom slippers! Giggle, giggle!

In actual matter, the phrase refers to an indication of what interests or does not interest us. For example, if I were to express that, “Stars Wars is my cup of tea”, what I mean by that strange adjoining of words is that I am pleasurably loopy about the film, not as it were, if You had adopted the literal route, that there was a loose leaf bag of tea and it contained all of everything that was ever made in the name of Star Wars! Ahem, ahem!

Whenever I enter into the virtual realm, a world that I hardly make entrances to because I am far greatly joyfully coiled with the musicality of the real world, my sixth sense always picks up the aura of a far, far away Majnun, a man whose face I cannot see with the lucidity that I wish for, perhaps that is down to the fact that faces change over lifetimes so it would make no sense to see any one face in particular.

But, I do know beyond certainty that this curious and incognito chap, is…

My cup of tea!

A bearer of the torch of Light as I am too, my heart tells me over and over again, a chirping chant as sweet and solemn as plum blossoms under a spring moon glanced from a secret pagoda in which two poet lovers meet, that he is the sort of man who would go all out to spark Life, Hope and Beauty even in the most harshest, desolate and coldest of places on earth. He is the song of warmth, a nest of stars, a fellow Magic Maker whom I pray to Destiny that I shall meet.

It is an old link that I provide below, but was posted in the virtual realm after my little woodsprite friend took hold of the porcelain tea cup to her mouth, and spectacular is her poise, as I imagine in my mind that should I come across this secretly hidden Majnun of mine, I would fall under a spell, awed and wonderstruck, by the sight of gazing upon someone other than myself who had it in him to create the finest of earthly Magic in front of my eyes… ♥♥♥  

 LINK: http://www.huffingtonpost.co.uk/2015/12/23/photographer-creates-stunning-shower-of-ice-crystals-after-throwing-hot-tea-into-the-air_n_8868024.html

You, Dear Majnun, Are My Cup Of Tea!

“… should I come across this secretly hidden Majnun of mine, I would fall under a spell, awed and wonderstruck, by the sight of gazing upon someone other than myself who had it in him to create the finest of earthly Magic in front of my eyes…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester| UK 2015

 

Christmas Month Puzzle Box 11: On The Matter Of Using Light To Live In The Moment!

A fanatical passion for flashy wheeled ‘boxes’, Samka could not wait one more minute to jump into her new chocolatey-coated chariot and drive off into the sunset! Our thrilling forage through the clandestine world of overarching green leafy giants and squidgy brown undergrowth was as much adventure as she could take in one day and it was now time to depart and return to her more familiar home comforts of the city.

Of course, I did not let it known to her at the time, but I secretly wished to stay on longer, and the most excellent idea popped into my head, of camping out in the woods, to sit under the naked roof of the night-sky whilst telling tales around an open log fire! AMAZING!

But, I conceded that it was time to go.

A sigh passed out from between my lips, the sort one releases when saying goodbye to something or someone whom one has intense reverence for, however, dear Reader, it was not to be the end of this MOTION PICTURE!

Out of nowhere, as is the lot of all eccentric geniuses who see such things, the lightning weight of SIR NEWTON’S APPLE fell on my hobbity head and I saw IT! Halt to the UNIVERSAL LAWS OF MOTION that underlies the driving force behind all metal ‘boxes’ I exclaimed to Samka, and I quickly got her to train her eyes on a most fascinating object that had caught my attention and that lay way back from the path from which we had just come from. How could I have missed it before? Shame on me, indeed!

“PICTURE ABHI BACK HI HAIN!” [This motion picture is not yet finished!]

Dragging her by the arm and she, completely overcome with disorientated bafflement, as if someone had thrown over her head a thick blanket and was pulling her off to an unknown location, I pushed her in front of the silver metallic instrument proudly propped atop a jagged stony plinth, whose design was not dissimilar to the natural proclivities of geology reputed for always placing the sought after prize at the summit of the MOUNTAIN.  The entire perimeter of this miniature mountain was embellished in my beloved VERY MERRY BERRY RED BALLOONS!

Well, let me introduce You to what was on that summit:

A Sundial ♥♥♥

It was once envisioned by Sir Newton who went on to construct it when he was still a precocious child, and a drawing of it remains, encased in a BOX, from which You can begin to appreciate the depth of his uncontrollably fertile mind, geared and filled with an insatiable and authentic love for Learning. Sound familiar? Giggle, giggle!

Like a child who had just stumbled upon the greatest treasure ever known to man, woman and chimp, I raced out a colourful explanation as to how sundials work: the almost miraculous way the gnomon projection is aligned to the earth’s axis and how a single SHAFT OF LIGHT from the sun seductively slides down the blade to cast a shadow on the surface of the dial, all this play of Light and Shadow from which the time of day could be mapped and read. I cannot get enough of it, what an AMAZING piece of mathematical engineering, an abstract love letter that praises the laws of Physics and then goes on to print invisible numbers on Your pulse where a watch would have sat… ♥♥♥

ALAS, I do not think Samka was that interested in my scientific treatise, for she had recruited her own saucy brand of gumption to indicate and lecture me, fair and square, on her theory that the gnomon projectile looked remarkably like something else which I shall forbid to utter here in case my Amma or my younger fans read any of this! AHEM, AHEM! I choked with irrepressible laughter and subsequently experienced a total loss of my fine motor skills, finding it horribly difficult to turn the knobs of my camera to compose the frame. My imagination hilariously invaded and violated by Samka’s timely visual metaphors, only God knows how I managed to take a reasonable shot of my friend next to her new pet without ‘camera shake’ in the mix – oh blast, look how polluted my terminologies have become! HAHAHAHA! What more can I add, only that, no matter how perilously twisted the obstacles ahead,  I – AHEM AHEM – never harbour the intention to give up!

Oh, and a word of counsel for my all-time admirer WHO is out there, if You wish to call upon me then it is no mundane-built mobile phone that shall succeed in dialling a connection between You and I, though I shall permit You to employ the services of a Sundial. What is the dialling code for the Sun, You enquire? Nah, that would be far too kindly of me and a gross insult to Your formidable cunning ways, I sense that sometimes You give Yourself undeservedly less credit than what You are actually due… ♥♥♥  

LINK: https://pictures.royalsociety.org/image-rs-10262

Christmas Month Puzzle Box 11: On The Matter Of Using Light To Live In The Moment!

“… the silver metallic instrument proudly propped atop a jagged stony plinth… the entire perimeter of this miniature mountain was embellished in my beloved VERY MERRY BERRY RED BALLOONS…”


Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Sparsholt Countryside|Hampshire | UK 2015

Reaching The Light Bulb Moment – An Extremely Cheeky Quip!

Ah, You are still unable to see me with Your eyes! Oh my, You ought to have grasped the reality of the situation by now which is that my concealability is not down to the fact that I am hidden inside the Mystery Box and You are not. Far from it my devoted Reader! The singular reason for my apparent invisibility is of a rather trivial stock if ever there was one and that is that You are in here with me too, but, to my great amusement, the knowledge has yet to reach You that You need to, ahem ahem, reach a little higher to press the Light Switch… :)) :)) :))

“… You are in here with me too, but, to my great amusement, the knowledge has yet to reach You that You need to, ahem ahem, reach a little higher to press the Light Switch…”

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Everyman Cinema | Winchester | UK 2015

My Warrior Of Light

The One whom my soul longs for, my worship a river’s fixedness towards his sea
Is not a master of muscles famed for his figure, obsessed with Vitamins A to D
It is his heart that I am in Love with, fearless as the swordsman of my photograph
In adversity’s maw and the chaos of the world, he braves forward, brazen and tough
A Lionheart strong and tender, think not he is a dweller of fantasy, afraid of stage-fright
A Noor to equal mine, peak song of transcendence, O my Warrior of Light…

EPILOGUE: Hats off to the spooky but deliciously felicitous timing of Facebook’s posting behaviour because I have just stumbled on Britain’s most famous comedic treasure, the lovable rogue and rascal of the streets, whose heart always gleamed of the purest gold, I am proud to give You, ‘Del Boy’! In his trademark silly baker boy hat, yukky faux pas and bright red turtle-neck jumper, sporting one of my incense sticks – I hope, the chap notoriously associated with countless accounts of rib-tickling antics, says it best. I’ll let You discover his quote for Yourself. Dare to face me? Giggle, giggle, toes a-wiggle… :))

LINK:  https://www.facebook.com/onlyfoolsandhorses/photos/a.265909810146284.62761.183903635013569/896267390443853/?type=1&theater

My Warrior Of Light

“… A Lionheart strong and tender, think not he is a dweller of fantasy, afraid of stage-fright
A Noor to equal mine, peak song of transcendence, O my Warrior of Light… “

Photography & Poetry: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Your Seamstress Of The Seas

I am the daughter of an island nation. The British isles may not have conjured into existence my ancestral line but she is my Mother nevertheless and I have become of the belief that it is her jagged hemline of rocky coasts reaching in every direction, ragingly glossed over by the force of the ocean’s voice in the form of tidal waves, that is the explanation behind why my heart is forever a magnet towards the kingdoms of the sea. Like a helpless silver fish that squirms and wriggles in the fisherman’s net in the futile attempt to free itself, I, too, cannot be landlocked for too long a time and must seek out the tasty alertness of salty air, the noisy shrills of wayward gulls, the avarice of wet sands and the mysterious plaits of algae before my soul succumbs to stagnation.  It is as though my spirit only agreed to occupy human form on the condition that in life it may seek out its borderless essence in the infinite watery mirrors of the seas.

The present photo-diary is but an abridged version of a recent expedition to an island off the coast of southern England. Famed for its boat building history, its fair pull of poets and writers, and the once location of Queen Victoria’s summer palace, the Isle of Wight is a diamond-shaped island that floats quite happily on Channel waters. The geographical signatures one is struck by immediately upon coming here are the sight of windswept majestic cliffs, some made of coarse stones whereas others are sandy and soft. They rise as far as the eye can see and, if you are observant enough, you might even be lucky enough to spot the fossilised remains of dinosaur bones, the island is an indisputable haven for budding palaeontologists!

The most famous landmark on the Isle of Wight and the first Susie, Agnes and myself were determined to venture towards is called ‘The Needles’. Situated on the western coast, these comprise of three pillars of chalk that defiantly rise out of the sea, not at all far from Alum Bay. There is an adorable Lighthouse on the outer end of the formation and I would have dearly loved to climb it and look out from its top window, pretending to guide the lost out at sea back to the comforting embrace of the shore. For those with an appetite for history, you may be intrigued to know that there is a fourth ‘needle’ called ‘Lot’s Wife’ but it collapsed in a ferocious storm in 1764. Ironically, it is this submerged rock that shares the strongest resemblance to a needle rather than the three that are visible to the eye. Lot, himself, is a biblical figure, cited in both Christianity and Islam, venerated as a prophet and messenger of God.

As I silently stood on the edge of the grassy hill overlooking The Needles I felt as though I had come one step closer to solving the mystery of why my heart was so persistently drawn to the abstruse beauty of the sea. Is there a needle out there, below the hidden blue depths that once belonged to me, whose powers are pen-like and curative? And then it came to me, in slow hushes, in sweet trickles, the memory that indeed such a magical needle was mine and that no matter where I found myself in the world I, the Seamstress of the people, could always entrust Mother Nature to hear my prayers and awaken life into my needle, letting it twirl and stitch and send off gifts to those for whom a smile is a treasure long-awaited…  :))

Diaries Of An Island Girl: Your Seamstress Of The Seas

“… I, the Seamstress of the people, could always entrust Mother Nature to hear my prayers and awaken life into my needle, letting it twirl and stitch and send off gifts to those for whom a smile is a treasure long-awaited… “

Photography & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | The Needles | Isle Of Wight 2015

I Was There For You Once

I was there for you once, my Heart, as they lugged your body to the cross
And the Beast watched amidst crowd, eyes filled with black river’s toss
Your Mother wept silent tears whilst I, devoted Mirium
Whispered my Lord’s prayers, a nightingale’s requiem
Fire struck Heaven as each word of mine shook God’s throne:
“My Love stood by Your side then why this burden on him alone?
For I demand I too shall carry and bear the cross of this world
And my Faith as strong as his, none to order it unfurled”
My Lord replied in deep tongue that was writ in purest Light
Assured my Love and I shall be reborn with every time’s flight
When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back…

I Was There For You Once

“… When the world grows dark and the Beast rides her nightly chariot black
So shall I and my Love rise, in flames of hope, neither to look back… “

Photography & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester | UK 2015

The Collar Of Darkness

Others fear darkness and the night yet for me they are mine
If I can admire stars then why not the shirt on which they shine…?

The Collar Of Darkness

“Others fear darkness and the night yet for me they are mine… If I can admire stars then why not the shirt on which they shine…?”

 

 Photograph & Poem: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | UK 2015

Mr Snowman Requests : Tales From My Christmas Tree

To the uninitiated, ‘tis a land of green pine needles studded with globules of lights however, dangle and sway an assortment of characters with more to them than meets the eye…

 

Mr Snowman Requests

“Madam, I am well aware that I am a snowman and that warm things harm me but it would make me terribly happy if you would be the Light in my Lamp so that I may know why birds sing at dawn and why the old smile at dusk…” – Mr Snowman to Mazzy

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | My Christmas Tree At Home | UK 2014

Lucy’s Light: The Light Of Faith

The scientific boffins will have you know that the interior world of the mind is finely weaved of elaborate mazes branching off in every conceivable direction and that the connections between them are so great in number that even the fleet of stars in our galaxy would fall to shame out of defeat. I suppose, for want of an educative visual analogy, you can say that we carry in our heads the dwarfish cousins of trees that we see everyday in our parks and streets. Subject any human brain to a scan and you will have a perfectly composed digital portrait of a tree in miniature with obvious variations across the ages.

Sometimes, however, one has the opportunity to observe exceptions to the rule.

As is so very characteristic of my eccentric ways, I submitted myself for such a scan and after a while the entire room was filled with gasps of awe and exclamations in the order of, “She’s one of them!” I demanded that a print of my results be slipped into a manila envelope so that I may take it home and glance at it in my own time – with a cup of tea in hand of course!

After settling into my armchair I took out the photograph and, as I had expected, there it was! Yes, dear reader, the Victorian lamppost of Narnia, the Light that did not dare to fade even in the cruelest icy wintry depths, stood tall and resolute amongst the branches of my mind. How beautifully it still glows for me and for all those that come my way.

Now, where on earth is Mr. Tumnus? He sent word to me that he needs me the most…

 

Lucy's Light

“… the Victorian lamppost of Narnia, the Light that did not dare to fade even in the cruelest icy wintry depths, stood tall and resolute amongst the branches of my mind…”

 

 

Photograph & Words: © Masufa Khatun | Mazzy Khatun Photo Stories | Winchester Cathedral Grounds | Winchester UK 2014