A flake of snow falls from the sky,
A crystal of water from heaven’s gate,
And the angelic white contrasts sharply
With the black of leather
As the flake lands upon my glove.
The simple elegance of lines and angles,
Vertices and sides, stand out in my mind
As a moment of magic.
But, by its very nature
A moment is only transitory.
Soon, the star of ice
That I hold in my glove,
Succumbs to the heat of me,
Escaping slowly through leather.
Slowly at first, but quickening every second,
The incubus begins to transform.
Tendrils are lost and tiny arms
Begin to puddle on my glove
Until all is lost, a spot of water.
As quickly as it arrived,
The magic is lost;
A moment never to return.
Within seconds though,
Another flake arrives
And the cycle begins anew.
This is the very nature of magic.
Transitory but unlimited
And the moments of mystery
Are guided by ourselves.
Their duration a test of our desire
As we get older, our worlds more severe,
It gets harder to find
The magic in our lives,
But it is not because
Magic does not exist.
It surrounds us at every turn,
Simply awaiting our attention.
Call it God, faith, life or dreams,
Magic exists but for the seeing.
Sometimes you just have to use
The eyes of the soul and spirit
Or a friend to point the way.
(Image is property of owner and is used here without permission but a little magic.)