Too Much Magic

By Toni Kief

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by Toni Kief

I have​​ pages of false starts, searching for​​ an example, a definition for​​ magic. ​​ I was confusing​​ miracles​​ with the​​ sleight​​ of hand​​ that makes​​ up​​ my​​ modern day​​ life. ​​ I laid​​ on the floor​​ in a sunbeam searching for the hook to​​ start on my writing. ​​ I was frustrated,​​ flogging​​ my mind for the first desperate word. ​​ Hours later I reached out knowing the answer did not exist in my private closed world. ​​ I walked​​ on a late summer day,​​ to​​ meet​​ a like-minded struggling​​ writer, to​​ contemplate​​ and discuss the questions​​ magic​​ posed. ​​ 

We wandered​​ through​​ an​​ art gallery,​​ missing​​ the magic when I suddenly realized​​ that talent and inspiration are miracles. ​​ Sculptures of Joy, and the simple colors shaping sunflowers, light​​ the day​​ and my thoughts. ​​ It dawned​​ on me​​ that​​ the freedom and discipline of dance and the personal​​ soul​​ searching of literature are also​​ magic.​​ The thought that Shakespeare didn’t have a computer almost stopped my reverie. As the day ended​​ and I drove​​ north​​ on the interstate I​​ hoped I​​ had the key. ​​ 

I slept,​​ asking for a dream, an angle,​​ an answer, but when I awakened​​ the question still nagged. ​​ As I walked through my home there are stacks of books, paintings on every wall and music playing on the radio. ​​ The realization that magic is in every moment of my existence​​ blindsided​​ me, like a downhill locomotive. ​​ I already live with​​ magic;​​ the only change was the​​ need​​ to​​ describe​​ it. ​​ So​​ as​​ the sun rose and the darkness crept​​ to the corners of my office, I​​ sat,​​ still in pajamas​​ wrapped in​​ my writer’s sweater​​ wrestling with​​ a​​ spark of​​ recognition. ​​ It is a miracle I want to write, but it is the magic I try to place on the page.​​ 

The lesson continued​​ when​​ I realized​​ that eggs are miracles and egg salad is magic,​​ as​​ I​​ make my breakfast with two cups of tea. ​​ My semi-domesticated​​ cat​​ that​​ chose to​​ live in my home is magic,​​ that she uses the litter box is​​ a miracle, and I clean it with​​ new​​ appreciation. ​​ Ducks flying through the sky and resting on a city lake is a miracle, curly haired toddlers feeding them popcorn is poetry, another word for magic.  ​​​​ 

Miracles are unexplainable​​ magnificent​​ gifts from the​​ Universe. ​​ Magic-well sometimes it’s​​ a trick, other times an illusion​​ but​​ mostly it is​​ an​​ inspired step​​ outside of reason. ​​ There was too much magic​​ but​​ now my eyes have opened.​​ ​​ I am dazzled by the spectacular show, and​​ will never be the same​​ as I rethink my gratitude. ​​ Now​​ I will​​ go to​​ take a shower; the fact​​ that I have hot, clean water shooting from the wall​​ is an amazing​​ deception, but​​ it is​​ magic​​ to me.​​ 



About The Author

Toni Kief, a child of the 60s, Midwestern by birth, Northwestern by choice, Toni challenges the boundaries for women of a certain age. After a long career as an insurance adjuster, she fell into writing through a challenge from a friend. She has released her first book, Old Baggage, with two others in the grinder. Toni never dated Mick Jagger, but marched for civil rights, shared bread with icons of politics and art. She is spending her retirement, gathering stories prime for embellishment. Writing has taught her inspiration without perspiration is just a good idea.