Magic (poem)
My idea of magic doesn't have much
to do with stage tricks and illusions.
The whole world abounds in magic.
When a whale plunges out of the sea
like a newborn mountain, you gasp
in unexpected delight. What magic!
But a toddler who sees
his first tadpole flashing
in a mud puddle,
feels the same thrill!
Wonder fills his heart,
because he has glimpsed,
for an instant, the
playfulness of life.
When I see the clouds whisked away
from a snow-capped peak, I feel like
shouting: "Bravo! Nature, the best of
all magicians, has delivered another
thrill". She has exposed the real illusion.
Our inability to be amazed by her wonders.
Every time the sun rises, nature is
repeating one command: "Behold!".
Her magic is infinitely lavish, and in
return all we have to do is appreciate it.
What delight nature must feel when
she makes stars out of swirling
gas and empty space.
She flings them like spangles
from a velvet cape. A billion reasons
for us to awaken in pure joy.
When we open our hearts
and appreciate all she has given us,
nature finds her reward. The sound
of applause rolls across the universe,
and she bows.
