For Calling the Spirit Back from Wandering the Earth in Its Human Feet
Tunes for a Monday Evening

Magic at daybreak

Nattadon Hill at break

Sun breaks over the fields and moor

In The Horn Book (a long-running magazine about children's literature), author & folklorist Jane Yolen was asked if she, personally, believed in magic. This is her answer:

"I believe there are prestidigitators who can do card tricks and saw-the-woman-in half tricks. I believe there are politicians who can make us believe up is down and wrong is right. I believe there are preachers who try to sell us a mess of pottage.

"And then I believe that an owl in flight, a hawk in stoop, an otter rising out of the duckweed...

Tilly in autumn bracken

Following her nose

"...a triple rainbow over the Isle of May, the New Jersey skyline as seen from the Highline in Manhattan on a night of the full moon, the small greenings of spring, honeybees on a blossom, and a newborn’s finger curled around mine are small everyday miracles, another word for ordinary magic. And that I believe in."

Underneath the old oak

Gold sun shines through the oak boughs

Do you believe in magic?

Hound and homeland

A place of magic

Words:  The Jane Yolen text above is from The Horn Book (January, 2012). I've used this quote once before, but I'm repeating it today because I love it! Everything else today is new. The poem in the picture captions is "Seeds in Flight" by Palestinian poet Khaled Abdallah, translated by Sara Vaghefian & The Poetry Tranlastion Workshop. It's from The Written Word (BBC Radio, 2012). All rights reserved by the authors and translators.  Pictures: Nattadon Hill in the early morning hours.


Magic is a touch; a word unspoken; a deed well done; a first breath taken and a last one come; magic is a drop of water and a sea to sail upon; a fallen leaf and the pain of grief; a tender kiss with its joy and bliss; a spray of salt water over a distant reef and the charge of a soldier even ever so brief. Magic is a run and the warmth of the sun on a cheek deepened red with winter’s speak. Magic is Us and be ever it so that in our imaginations it grow until Time whispers for Us to go.

Yes indeed. Magic of ordinary miracles. Magic shines in the eyes of children's wonder all the time. Little people, places on earth, wind, water and fire! All magic that science is even stumped at figuring out!

Oh yes. Sweet, daily magic.

Yes, I believe in magic. It's everywhere daily. We may not notice it because we're too busy, our minds overlaid with the daily detritus of life, but it's there whether we see it or not.

What are Quantum Mechanics and Quantum Entanglement but science finally accepting the magic exists?

Many thanks, as always, for sharing such wise words. There's a certain magic too in tending the soil. Found the following this morning and it fits here...

M&M's_three_laws 🙂

The link would probably help... 😶

I have always believed in magic. I first saw magic in the pages of a book- the way pages fluttered between my fingers and inviting me into another world. As an adult, my science became magic. What else could it be? Garnets growing from heat, pressure, and elements; the magic of how a stream still flows clear and crisp after centuries. Magic is all of the discordant aspects of our lives suddenly clicking together, finding ourselves whole in the midst of an uncertain world.

Thanks, Mike. I wasn't aware of these three laws

Walt Whitman's poem:


Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge
of the water,
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at
night with any one I Iove,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with
the same,
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim--the rocks--the motion of the waves--
the ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

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