A Sprig of Magic


The warmth of arrival— the space and the greeting. The natural light streaming in through an eastern window lifted part way so the morning filters in. The way the light hits the corner of the long wooden table. A handcrafted mug painted with flowers suddenly lit on display in the square of a reflected pane. The blue velvet chair graciously welcoming me back. The algae encrusted vase holding beauty in the bathroom. This week, a sprig of fresh chamomile, light and airy. The kettle, still warm and ready to steep my tea. Calming chamomile like the beauty in the bathroom, like the warmth of the space, like the chair and table holding hearts on the page. Calm like the voice that reads poetry and weeps. A calm that softens the headaches and hearts aches. This weekly return to the river of writing. Simply showing up is enough. It feels something like magic.