The magic occurs in everyday life, and my main point is to try to recognize it. It is magic when an eagle flies over my head and I hear the wind in its wings. It is magic when I realize that some kid I tangled with all year at the school really doesn't hate me, and maybe something I said or did, actually sank into his hormone-ridden confusion. Magic is the Red-Tailed Hawk that flew circles around me after I returned to the woods after a month and a half. Magic is when a friend tells me that I said something that first made her cry and then made her feel wonderful. Magic is the smell of the morning as I walk from my car to the door of the school. Magic might be the day I met you.
The thoughts of a writer.
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