Once they arrived she turned her children loose…finding a tree she could safely watch them from behind….there is magic everywhere she tells them…go see what you can find….


They smile…then they wave…then they take off…ready to explore…ready to find the magic…as they’d done so many times before.


They examine the grass and the ground while on their hands and knees…they investigate the weeds…they smell the flowers, climb the trees.


They turned their noses to the breeze…search under rocks…dunk their hands into the babbling brook…and just as Mom predicted…there was magic everywhere they looked…


All the time their mom is smiling…remembering when it was she on her hands and knees…searching for the magic with her mom behind the trees…


And she thinks…when she was a child how she loved searching for the magic…as many children do…but as a mom…watching her children search for magic…is a kind of magic too.



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Here’s a little something I hope, someday, the whole world understands…that we all have been created with magic in our hands.


Mothers and their babies feel it from the moment the mother’s eyes upon the newborns linger…when she touches her hand to theirs…and they hold on to her finger.


And for a moment it seems time has paused…the world has stopped its spinning…but the magic passing between them…is only the beginning.


For anytime a mother holds her child’s hand…to comfort…to reassure…

the magic makes them feel safe…makes them feel protected…and secure.


As the children grow a little older…they begin to understand the magic, too…as their mother’s hands help their hands understand what hands can do.


All the fun their hands can have…all the pain they can help alleviate.

all the things their hands can build…all the love they can create.


When the children are no longer children…perhaps when life is grueling

they will visit their mothers and hold their hands whenever their magic needs refueling.


The magic is still there even as the mother’s life is ending…

when on her eyes their eyes will linger…

when they touch their hand to hers…

when she hold on to their finger.


Even when she’s gone…they will remember how she held their hands…how she loved them…how she smiled…for they know all the magic in her hands has been passed down to the child.


And they will pass the magic…to their children…and when they see it in their eyes…

they will smile knowing, as it passes down form generation to generation, 

the magic never dies.


For they have learned throughout the years…they have come to understand

the magic they have shared…that was passed down through her hands…


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There is a little bit of magic in my morning walk…in all the miles I’ve amassed.

It’s where my present meets my future as I step out of my past.


Looking back I cannot change the path I took…that is plain to see 

but where I step into the future…that is totally up to me.


For that is the glory of a new day…that’s what my morning walk is all about…I can choose to do things differently…I can take a different route.


I could choose to walk the same path, write my poems and rhyme my words…or I could choose to leave my poetry behind and just listen to the birds.


To immerse myself into the music of the morning…letting it seep into every pore.

How often when I’ve done this have I discovered sounds I’d never heard before?


Or I could take a different path completely…one I’d never walked before…a different street, a different road…perhaps a walk along the shore.


Where I might stop to breathe the morning air wafting on an ocean breeze or listen to the wind as it rustles through the trees.


Oh, I still love the sameness in my life, the daily routines I happily journey through for in that sameness I can always find a bit of magic too.


But it’s nice to know that sameness doesn’t have to be steadfast….allowing me a little bit of future magic each morning as I step out of my past.

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When it comes to being happy…this opinion I must express…

We tend to search for magic moments…to ensure our happiness.


But if we’re lucky we find moments…moments in a day 

when, even though we were not searching…

magic finds us anyway.


Take yesterday for instance:


Our nephew and his wife who’d been on vacation in NC

brought an apple pie back 600 miles and gave it to Deborah and me.


We missed going to North Carolina this year…

the pandemic causing too much of a fuss…

Knowing this they brought a piece of NC back to Florida just for us.


An apple pie made with fresh apples right off the orchard’s trees

which they purchased after standing in line…from one of our favorite bakeries.


They handed us the pie…knowing it’s a pie we both adore

and I’m not sure if it was them…or us…who happened to be smiling more.


In fact Deborah was so happy…I thought she was going to cry…

as we both understood there was more than apples…there was magic in that pie.


So to keep the magic going…with this pie we were bestowed…

we covered it with vanilla ice cream…and ate it al-a-mode.


And with each bite we felt lucky to have that moment…

that moment in our day….

when, even though we were not searching…

the magic found us anyway.


(And let me tell you, wether you find it or it finds you…as I now end this little ode…

Most magic tastes a little better when it’s served up al-a-mode!)



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When the old man told him the price of the seeds…the farmer shook his head.

“You won’t be sorry…trust me….these are magic seeds.” The old man said.


“The flowers that grow from these seeds will make a beautiful and varied array…

And though the farmer knew all seeds were magical…he bought these seeds anyway.


He planted them in his garden where they would always be in view…

He watered them and he waited to see if the old man’s words were true.


And sure enough the farmer was amazed at the amount of flowers that grew.

He loved their different sizes…their contrasting colors, shapes and hues.


He would sit upon his porch for hours and hours on end

looking out upon his flowers…watching their shapes and sizes blend.


But inside the garden the flowers were unhappy at what the magic seeds created.

They saw the differences between them…and they were jealous…and they hated.


The tall flowers and short flowers hated each other…they called each other names

The white flowers thought they were the most beautiful…

The red, yellow, orange and purple flowers thought the same.


And the more they fought with one another…

the more their jealousy and hatred pervaded

The more the garden seemed to loose its beauty…

the more their hues and colors faded.


And the farmer could do nothing to stop it…and in the end he cried

the day his garden wilted…the day his flowers died.


And as he plowed his garden under…

he knew those magic seeds had power….

but was saddened that the magic in those seeds

never transferred to the flower.

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“I’m not sure how you do it.” He told his daughter

“How you see magic everywhere.”

“But it’s wonderful…I adore it”.

"It’s really very simple Daddy.” She said

“I see magic…because I’m looking for it”.

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We have in our possession an old and weathered griddle

that’s been making pancakes in our house 

since our children and grandchildren were little


Every Saturday morning at a slow and steady pace

we’d stack pancakes on the table…some with a happy face.

As we got more creative we found a way to play.

We added colors…we made flowers into a beautiful pancake bouquet.


We made pancakes in all shapes and colors and sizes

I believe our Mickey Mouse was the best!

And as we grew in confidence we began taking their requests.


No request was rejected..no matter how big…or little

for we knew despite our lack of artistic talent…

there was magic in this griddle.


The children and grandchildren are all grown now

and yesterday with just a little fanfare

We decided to make pancakes for our dinner

And were delighted…because the magic was still there.


All the magic of all those Saturdays…

All those pancakes made when they were little…

All those moments made more memorable

by the magic of the griddle. 

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I’ve never read a magic book…never studied…never crammed

I am in no way a magician although…I like to think I am.


When our children and grandchildren were young…they thought I was too

as I was able to surprise them with the few simple tricks I knew.


I could steal their nose, make a pencil turn to rubber, make a quarter disappear

and as they were watching my every move…find that quarter in their ear.


My repertoire was basic…but on my every move they hung….

to them I was a magician…at least while they were young.


But children and grandchildren grow up…and it wasn’t long before

the magic tricks I fooled them with when they were young…didn’t fool them any more.


But the funny thing about this even though my magic’s no longer there

when we all get together…there’s still magic in the air…


There is magic in the way we talk and laugh…and there is always a surprise…

a little magic in our touch…a little magic on our eyes.


So even though I’ve never read a magic book…never studied…never crammed

and technically I’m not a magician…I still like to think I am.


Because a magician doesn’t have to perform tricks….

doesn’t have to pull a coin out of thin air….

a magician only has to have the knack…

of finding magic everywhere.

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He watched her put her feet into the water

as she sat upon the shore…

and he began to see her 

as he never had before.


He always thought she was beautiful

but seated by her side

with her face reflected in the water

he saw her beauty multiplied.


And in that very moment

(until then he hadn’t thought about it much)

he saw how she was like the water

soft and gentle to the touch.


He felt the magic in the water 

as it changed from colors green and blue

and he felt that same magic in her voice

her eyes

and in her smile too


And it made him smile as they sat there

together by the shore…

for he knew just like the water 


she was filled with mysteries to explore.

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