"Come with me, and I will take you to the scarlet sunsets, the gold-breathed clouds, the blue royal waves that rise to the sky in effortless power, as if the earth itself grew fluid wings. Come and we will both find Lions that need no fighting. Come, come away, my war-torn soldier, come walk the world with me. Walk till there is no memory of blood on skin, but blood beneath it; till you feel blood made to flood the heart and wake the fingers, blood beat in your toes. Now you know that toes were made to move.
Come with me and remember that you were made to dance, the world was made to be alive, and all things were made for beauty."
Professor Kirke closed the book and leaned back, staring sightlessly at the wall.
"Professor?" Edmund's young voice moved a bit closer. "Professor? Is something wrong?"
Professor Kirke gently placed the book on his desk, one finger touching the brown spine. "No, my boy. I just have the strangest feeling this author has been to Narnia. For a moment, this book took me to that world again."
Edmund, moving closer with eyes on the book like a thirsty child fixed on a glass of water, paused as someone entered the doorway of the study.
"Digory, the children want to hear about our ride on Fled—goodness, how did you get a copy of my book? It was only meant for my students."
~Title taken from Emily Dickenson's poem by the same name.