You have to believe...

The other day, meaning sometime in the last year, my man and I were discussing how heartbreaking it was, as children, to discover that magic wasn't real. I don't actually remember the moment of that realization, instead I remember faking it. I remember knowing that Santa Claus was a lie, but still hoping for the sound of hooves on the roof. I wanted to be wrong. But I wasn't. I pretended to believe. After a real low point around junior high, I began to rediscover magic, to search it out, to manufacture it, if necessary.

Magic, I use the word because I like the sound of it, the inherent sparkle within it (I feel the same way about the word "amazing"),  but I am referring to anything strange, mysterious, enchanting, supernatural (in feel, if not in reality), heartwarming, secret, or cool. As I amassed a mental list of places where I find magic, I noticed a trend. These magical places or things seems to be where humans and nature overlap, the seam where the two worlds are stitched together, where the two exist simultaneously.  Like Avalon and Glastonbury. The sound of a fog horn over still water. The whistle of a train drowning out the chirp of crickets. Church bells. Tires on gravel (the sound of vacation). Listening to someone practice music, hearing it float out of windows, the saxophonist across the street, the bagpiper walking the bridle paths of prospect park, the xylophone on the subway platform, even the off-key aging barber shop quartet on the train. (sorry pan flute dudes, you don't make the cut).

Then there is art.  Public: Things hidden in trees or hanging from building facades. Graffiti. Murals (Precita Eyes!). Street light shadow tracings, making night surreal, a time when objects seem alive. Private: there are too many to list here. But Joseph Cornell cornered the market on magic.

Then there are things that seem pregnant with possibility, that are exciting to see, hear, pretend, play along with, or generally encourage: like jazz at three in the morning, strong cocktails at sunset, The Rapture ('cause who knows?), tarot cards, the smell of wood smoke when walking in the snow, hide and go seek with little kids who can cram themselves into ridiculously good hiding spots, oh god swimming (this will one day be its own post), teenagers making out in the park, pretending to be a teenager making out in the park, vintage cars, art cars, and those roller skaters in central park.

I feel like I could ramble on about sunshine on water and ice cream cones with jimmies and hot baths with good music and tiny teeny flowers, but my Julie Andrews-in-a-thunderstorm moment is coming to a close. (I forgot to put thunder and lightening on the list!) Any way, just a few things to think about when the dogs bite and the bees sting.