When I was a child I loved the Narnia books by C.S. Lewis, especially "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe". I also adored "The Magician's Nephew" and "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader". I remember sitting on the edge of my bed with a brand new copy of "The Voyage of the Dawn Treader" in a white paper bag on the bed beside me, a present from my mother. I could practically feel it singing to me. I took it out, and looked at the cover and turned it over in my hands and put it back in the bag so that I could have the pleasure of taking it out again. I knew that once I started to read it I would gallop through it, reading on the lavatory and in bed and on the bus to school, until I started to feel travel sick, reading at the table with the book on my lap until my mother caught me doing it. I was a voracious reader and a fast one and the book would soon be finished, so spinning out the time before I began was a necessary part of extending the excitement.
My favourite bit of "The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe" was the part when the grip of the endless, spellbound winter loosened and the snow began to melt, the streams began to move and there was the sound of water running beneath the ice. The snow softened and the grass began to show green. The iron grip of ice and snow dissolved into a growing, greening, shifting world.