Magic exists.
It is the whisper of wind on an otherwise silent stroll through the woods.
The breeze enveloping and swirling, a wave of connection from somewhere else.
There are elements of one town over and hints of jasmine carried all the way from India. Smells, voices, ideas, and images all swimming in an oxygen stew.
Magic exists.
It is a phone call from an old friend.
A voice traveling through time connecting us to who we were.
Young hope and dreams mingling with a heart sprinkled with experience.
Wishes, promises, acceptance, and wisdom; all dancing side by side.
Magic exists.
It is laughter sprung from silliness without reason.
Giggles winding up from a belly spontaneously adding joy to a stern world.
This is the thing about laughter.
Somewhere long ago the first chuckle erupted landing us here.
Magic exists.
It is healing transpiring on a desert landscape of pain.
Stark shocking hurt leaving no room for acceptance.
And yet, one seed traveled on a breeze landing in a soft spot.
Nestled between ridges, sprinkled with dew a seedling grew.
Magic exists.
It is the wind and the connection between souls.
It is joy scotch taping centuries to each other.
It is the miracle of healing.
It is a blooming bush of Jasmine in India perfuming the air of a Midwestern night.
