” A few can touch the magic string, and noisy fame is proud to win them:
Alas for those that never sing, but die with all their music in them!”
-Oliver Wendell Holmes
The busy of Life takes over us sometimes and blurs the evidence of our true existence. I’ve been searching for something elusive but had only to see with my very eyes that which was right before me. I watched in wonder and sometimes coached–maybe too much but I didn’t want them to fail–but in the end I just stood there marveling at the pure magic happening all around me. Everything was perfect and then it was not and then perfect again. The wind rose and then died. There were tears and much laughter after. Their squeaky voices echoed down the hills and flew through the air on their kites. The pig flew the highest. Strings were tangled. The sun slowly set and we basked in its orangey warmth. A nearly full moon slowly rose from behind the trees, like a God peering at his people. We were happy. And magic happened over and over.