I believe magic exists.
I’ve tasted it.
As a child, it came to me easily. It wound itself around my fingertips and danced before my eyes like fireflies. But as I grew older, its notes became harder to hear.
Or maybe, I tried too hard to tune it out.
Even so, I know glimpses of it slipped through.
That giddy feeling you have getting ready for a school dance – magic.
Sensing an audience still because of your song or solioquy before erupting in applause – magic.
Seeing your friends wait up for you with big smiles – magic.
Holding hands with a boy – magic.
Cradling your baby nephew in your arms for the first time – magic.
Back then, I didn’t fully realize that’s what it was. Now that I’m grown, it’s like the magic is whispering louder…and I’m finally willing to hear it again.
Breathing in the bite of a snowstorm.
Shuddering with a conspiratory grin under thunder’s rumble.
Hearing the cacophony of birdsong.
Smelling the luminous quality of fresh lilac.
Feeling the damp earth crumble and coat my fingers.
Locking eyes with a herd of deer.
Watching a hawk glide silently through the evening sky.
Being startled by an equally startled fox.
Covering your beloved in heady, wine-soaked kisses.
Devouring a book like it’s chocolate.
Walking through the door of your childhood home.
In moments like these, I’m the child I once was–reverently chanting to the TV screen that “I do believe in fairies.”
In moments like these, I feel like I’m more than just myself.
In moments like these, I believe in magic.