More than any other segment in ‘The Wizard of Oz’ – more than the sassy quips of Glinda or the wonderful Wicked Witch of the West’s glorious cackle, even more than those fabulous ruby slippers – it was the transition from the sepia world of Kansas to the color-saturated world of Oz that always thrilled me the most. It was that magical space of a doorway or portal to another place, the way every exit, and entrance, marked a moment to manifest a new beginning, that spoke to me even as a child. Starting over again is one of the hard-learned lessons of life, one that I’m still struggling to fully understand. Years ago, that used to scare me – now it gives me a little thrill, the same sort of excitement that I feel when Dorothy opens that drab door and reveals a world of vibrant color.
It’s the feeling when winter shifts incontrovertibly to spring, or when the sun, dampened by an eclipse, reappears in rekindled splendor.
