The Beauty of Magic

I look at the above picture (taken my Jan Morrill) and wonder at the beauty of magic. See how the light plays and dances in the globe? How the hard world blurs, becomes softer, more mystical in its radiance? What a dark, gloomy place this world would be without magic.

So what do I mean my magic? Humans, being the way we are, try to make something difficult out something so simple. Oh sure, magic can be a grand thing, but most of the time, magic simmers just below the surface and waits to spill its essence in small seemingly quiet ways:
A license plate on the car in front of you bears your departed loved ones initials.
A smile.
A wink.
A kiss.
A red cardinal against the white of snow.
Twinkle lights in the trees.
Campfire.
A crow feather given in gratitude for the bird bath of water provided in a dry, hot summer.
A mockingbird feather on a car’s windshield given as a “thank you” for your praise of his song.
An owl sitting on your mailbox.
A cat from out of nowhere rubs against your leg, then disappears.
Stars
Moon.
Clouds.
Wind.
Whispers.
A child’s giggle.
Holding hands.
Laughter.

I admit, I don’t have the Christmas spirit this season. For one thing it came too fast. I’m still back in summer. Don’t even remember fall. For another, gift-giving has become a duty instead of a labor of love. And the prices! People are pushy, rude. Finding a parking space is impossible. Too many don’t have enough. It’s easy for depression to drag your spirit down into the mud and the muck. I fight against it. Because I know magic can happen any time, any where.

Stop looking for the grand things. Open the mind. Be aware. Look around. Great things come in small packages.

That’s the beauty of magic.

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