A Witches Brew, A Magic Spell, An Enchanted Forrest Where Fairies Dwell

Letter #3

Dear Melbourne,

I have always liked the word ‘dwell’ for multiple reasons, some of which I have listed for you below...

• It’s one of very few words in the English language that start with ‘dw’.

• It makes me think of fairies and the enchanted forests where they live.

• I like the way it looks written down on paper.

• It makes me feel posh when I use it.

But above all else, I think it’s one of those words that provokes a very visual response. I, for instance, see a person standing in a large empty room illuminated only by the old-fashioned oil lamp in their hand. It’s very 19^th century Victorian… corsets, top-hats, waistcoats, bonnets… you with me?

In my mind I watch this person walk through the hallways of a large manor house, using their oil lamp to shine light on empty rooms lined with cobwebs.

Why are they there? You ask. What is it they’re searching for? Trust me, I have laboured over those questions for a long while and I’ve come to one overarching conclusion. They’re haunting an empty house; that is to say, they’re dwelling in the past.  

I think it’s happened to all of us at least once… where we find ourselves retracing the steps of a life that’s long left us behind. Sometimes it’s completely accidental. We’re tied to a place by a strong emotion, grief, love, revenge, just like any good ghost story, and we’re not quite sure how to move forward. Sometimes it’s more intentional. We sit down and stubbornly refuse to move until everything goes back to the way it once was. I think this is a great example of will, even if it is in vain.

Regardless of why we’re there, we’re then forced to watch as time moves on. Because it does. It’s unforgiving and tenacious in its unfaltering pursuit forwards. It’s our greatest resource and our most unfortunate tether. I have many grievances with time and I’m sure I’m not the only one. Like, what the fuck is with female fertility and it’s ticking clock? I’ve put in multiple complaints about that one and am yet to get a response but when I do… boy oh boy, hold on to your bonnets.

And yet, time is one of the few things we all share. Wherever we are in the world, an hour is an hour. May becomes June, June becomes July and then suddenly it’s August. Whether it’s cold or warm, day or night, the sun rises in the East and a new day begins. I’d hate to miss that sunrise because I was wandering through empty hallways with an oil lamp.

All of this is to say, I think I’ll leave the dwelling to the fairies. An enchanted forest is a much nicer place to be than an empty house.

I’m wishing you all warm hugs from people you love.

Love,

Manchester

P.S. A small note to my Mum. Thank you for filling our home with so much love. I’m not sure how you do it, but there always seems to be sparks of magic at the tips of your fingers. Happy Mother’s Day.