My Alice.

There goes my Alice.
Blue eyes and tumbled hair.
The hunter and the hunted;
the unfinished story.

I recognise her, even as she hides her face.
A mirror child of distorted lines,
clear, but incomplete.
The truth is hidden under the layers of blue.
Here be dragons.

See her dress with lace edge
and yet her legs bare and stained,
grass green and mud smears.
She’s half hidden behind the dark trunks
in the crowded forest in my mind.
Sly smile and shy gaze.
Come and play.

A mismatched tale of broken words,
formed in the shadows.
A white rabbit and a blue bird.
And I know she thinks she’s dreaming.

Follow me into the dark,
even as she’s falling, falling,
into yet another life.

There goes my Alice.
Blue eyes and tumbled hair.
The hunter and the hunted;
the unfinished story.

Lost.

Pure white in front of me, let me see, let me see.
Follow those skipping feet, down through dark streets
and over grass green. Blue skirt, shoes cream.
Earth dirt swallows me whole. A distorted reflection
confuses, takes, engulfs my sense of direction.
Let me sit pretty, blonde haired little pixie.
Teacup in hand, I don't understand.
Stop the spinning, crying, growing, shrinking;
catch me with a labelled bottle and a door too small
tell me your poetry as I fall fall fall.

The Mad Hatter's Tea Party!

The Caterpillar came with bubbles instead of a pipe, and spent the afternoon drinking red nectar from a teacup. The White Rabbit was at one point spotted up a tree, and ended up marrying the Queen of Hearts. The Dormouse didn't fall asleep once, and was the children's favourite during our stroll through town to our Tea Party area. The Queen of Hearts left felt hearts almost everywhere she went, and beheaded everyone at least twice. The March Hare was shockingly late, and transformed before our eyes from normality to apparent insanity. Alice finally caught the White Rabbit, and even remembered the prizes for the Caucus Race.
The Mad Hatter danced with wild abandon across the grass, scattered invitations left and right, and was wished a Happy Birthday by three complete strangers. Silly people. Did they not know it was my Un-Birthday..?

Kudos to you, my old friend, whose idea it was to celebrate an Un-Birthday in such a way. I can still feel the cold touch of my teacup handle and the jolt of each and every *Clink!*. I can still see the colour and variety of the costumes and the laughter on every face. I can still hear the cries of "Taaaaaart!" and the terrible puns that circulated. I can still taste the strawberry jam and the pink icing on the cupcakes.

Here is an offering: Snapshot images of parts of a Mad Hatter bedecked in black and grey and blue, and covered in buttons and ribbons and lace.

Fob watch - an early Birthday present - and waistcoat.



Hat! An awkward angle, but there it is.



An old pair of black heels, especially decorated.



Finally, here she is. Dancing in bare feet on sun-dry grass, the Queen of Heart's fan in one hand.



For once in my life, I had a real excuse to go completely mad. I loved every minute of it.

"... Auntie's wooden leg, Auntie's wooden leg! Dee da, dee da, Auntie's wooden leg..."

Excitement.

Ach, I can barely contain my excitement! Slowly but surely my birthday celebrations are creeping closer... Only four more days to go. Only four! The costumes are completed (with the exception of a velvety-red crown), the plans have been made, and the invitations circulated. The teacups are wrapped in tissue paper and stored carefully on my shelf, along with a teapot decorated with pink roses. The picnic blanket is... nowhere to be seen. Hmm, have to fix that. And the menu is pretty such sorted. In four days, the four days (oh, how conveniently balanced!) of early celebrations will begin.

Bring it on!

Costumes.

Red, soft and silky. It hangs from a hanger on the lamp next to my bed. The black roses lining the top of the bodice soak up the light, the red buttons in the centre of each glinting in bright pride. The lace is draped across the skirt; pinned at the centre, it falls from the red heart and black rosette to sweep down in loops before joining in a bow at the back. Scraps of material hang limp and unwanted from the hanger, the different shades of red clashing with each other.

My shoes are placed neatly, side by side, beneath my bed. Black lace ruffles across the toe of one, white lace is pinned in a proud rosette on the other. Draped over them is the waistcoat, black velvet soft and covered, from lapel to lapel, in coloured buttons. Small purple ones march alongside large green ones, flanked by heavy silver and gold ones with detailed patterns scratched on their surface. A gold bow perches jauntily next to a small silver key, proclaiming their difference as the entire outfit proclaims its uniqueness.

A white apron is crumpled on my desk. Edged with blue ribbon, it is unfinished. Awaiting the dress it is to to cover.

Buttons and ribbons litter my floor. They create tiny islands on the mess of brown carpet beneath. Pins stick upright, heads sparkling in the light streaming through my window. Needles trailing lengths of black and white thread are balanced on the edges of pin boxes, or speared through the sides of plastic bags to keep them safe.

Two weeks and they'll be completed. Two weeks and our costumes will be aired - showed off to the world. Two weeks...