I sat still enough to watch a dragonfly breathe,
her long blue body pulsing with secrets of life.
I felt like a cunning spy, knowing the unknown,
bearing witness to something so magical yet mundane.
And that's when it hit me-
The only magic is everyday magic.
Everyday magic is what pulls Jupiter over the horizon,
spilling silver across an obsidian lake.
It turns the heads of flowers toward the fading sun:
a reverent crowd silent between song and applause.
It gently stirs the mud under a heron's watchful gaze,
and it curves her neck in a graceful coil.
It tears bark from floating sycamores in the river's torrent
with the deftness of master carvers.
When I woke up to everyday magic,
I fell in love with the world.