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Since a young girl, I have always been intrigued by imaginings of size.

In nature, I loved to imagine how it would look to be grown tiny, and dropped into these places. I would often kneel, gazing deeply into small mossy nooks, through curled hillside bilberry strands, into tangles of branches and thorns. At the beach, I would find those deep, crusted and feathered green pools, gaze and mentally sink under the water and swim. I loved, and still love, to imagine a world changed size, trickle become river, thorn become tree..

Life to a spiders eye, a flea, a worm.

Sometimes, in bed at night, I had half awake dreams of becoming larger and smaller. My eyes tight closed, I lay and imagined. I could feel my hands, my legs, my torso, growing, then shrinking. Sometimes fast, sometimes slow.

It was almost a surprise to open my eyes and find myself the same size, I believed the imaginings so much.

My mum and I would play with pine cones in the wood near to our house, stacking them up to make “houses”, and singing the poetry by Pooh,

“Here is a myst’ry

About a little fir-tree

Owl says it’s his tree

And Kanga says it’s her tree”

I had forgotten all these things somehow, until my visit to the woods, and this picture came to be.

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