Monday, June 25, 2012

a bit of magic

Sometimes when I visit the farm I grew up on, this strange feeling comes over me. It can happen as I drive down the street, which is all vineyards on one side, and all valley on the other. It can happen when I walk between my mother's house and my grandmother's house, making little stops along the way - to pick some grapes, or step inside the barn, or stop at the lilac bushes. It can happen when I go downstairs to fetch something out of my grandmother's cellar. It's the kind of feeling that steals the breath from your lungs and fills you up with wonder. Anyways, when I first began to notice this feeling, I thought it was nostalgia. But lately I've been thinking it's something else. It's often associated with very particular things. Things like this:


(Those are little plants growing out of the barn wall.)

I think I've figured it out. When I was a little girl, I had a strong belief in magic. And magic, for me, was in the little things. Magic was in my grandmother's cellar. It was in the way the sun warmed the grapes that burst across my tongue. It was in the smell of the lilacs and the sight of the little plants growing between the barn wall cracks. Sometimes I wonder if maybe I still think these things are magic. And then, inevitably, I wonder...

Maybe they are magic.