Seven Magical Things

Cafe Writing's 2008 Holiday Project asked us to list seven magical things in our world. This is a list of seven from my world.



1. My music folder is open in front of me, as with each of the other singers, all eyes on the director. When her arms move, we sing with one voice, one intent. We trusted each other to start at the same time, stop at the same time, use the same words. That is magic.

2. Once upon a time my mom dressed me to go out in the snow to ski. Over underwear went thin cotton socks and cotton long-johns (tops and bottoms). On top of that went wool socks, then a cotton turtleneck. Next a wool sweater and stretch pants with stirrups under my foot and suspenders over my shoulders fought a vertical tug-of-war to keep the entire length of my legs covered. After that I was finally ready for a coat and hat, plus glove liners topped with down mittens. At the end of the day I'd be wet from the outside in and from the inside out.

Today I think the thin polypropylene and other "technical materials" that wick moisture and keep me warm are magic.

3. I watch her spoon the dry powder to into the warm water with a little honey in it and soon there are bubbles and a distinctive smell. Later she mixes in some other ingredients to form a batter that grows. Eventually a home-baked loaf of bread comes out of our oven. That is magic.

4. People from around the world have seen my stories and my poems and I have seen theirs. From shared prompts or from a serendipitous stumble along a chain of links I have connections to these people. The Internet and blogging is magic.

5. It is not just a smile. It starts with a smile, the corners of the mouth raised, but it keeps going, with dimples starting and the corners of her eyes starting to crinkle. It is tender and sweet and wicked and it feeds my heart. That is magic.

6. This weekend I helped my elderly across-the-street neighbor, and his equally elderly brother-in-law shovel the heavy snow that the plows had piled at the end of his driveway. The rest of snow was light, but the plow-built embankment was very heavy. As we worked my neighbor told me that his car had become stuck the day before, when the snow was falling quite heavily. He said a quick prayer to Saint Christopher and seemingly out of nowhere a man appeared with a shovel to help get the car moving again. I would like to think that is magic.

7.
A sight sparks a memory.
The memory carries emotion.
The emotion begets words,
words to paint with.
The words carry the picture,
the emotion, the memory.
That another sees what I do,
that is poetry,
that is magic.