Magic may not ever show itself to us, Werner.
Not to people like you and me.
It hasn’t and it may not.
And yet, I think I see it every day.
In your eyes when you speak of your sister,
there’s a glint.
Your eyes glint with love
the way this moonstone on my wrist glints
blue and purple. Sometimes
just white, you know it can be more;
it could be as magnificent as the northern lights.
When the wind moves the trees
and sends a message through the empty fields,
and you feel you are really just an onlooker to nature.
But the robin lands beside you and looks at you
like it knows, and you become a partaker.
The unity of an institution,
the smiles that sew threads between good intentions,
opalescent threads, strong as diamond.
I see it. So I know sometimes it’s easier to be cynical,
and I know we can’t really ever know.
But magic,
magic,
what a possibility to live into.