Of Eggs and Magic

I found the chickens’ secret stash at last!

Because I like to ascribe meaning to all the doings of birds, I’m counting this secret clutch of chicken eggs I just discovered as a powerful omen of good magic afoot.

It’s the time of year for magic (if there is time). The harsh cries of crows in the pine boughs weave a rough incantation. The air is tinged with smoke and leaf-mould. I tossed and turned last night, jolted upright over and over again by phrases–not complete sentences even–just snips and threads–of a story insisting on appearing. A story of sisters, and magic.

I’m sure it was inspired in large part by watching Practical Magic for the first time a couple of days ago. Now I need to read the novel. The story is gorgeously magical, irreverently and wildly and joyfully so. Sometimes darkly. Always powerfully. It’s a kind of magic I think we could all use. But there’s something very upper-crust about that magic, too–about women in lovely clothes inhabiting huge houses bursting with everything anyone could possibly want or imagine.

I love that kind of magic, but I want the blue-collar magic, too–the working-class, trailer-park magic. The magic that pools in the hollows of Appalachian valleys where the sun only shines at midday. So there is a story now clamoring at my thoughts, coloring the way I see the woods today from the inside out.

Tell me about your magic. What kind do you need?

6 thoughts on “Of Eggs and Magic

  1. I hear you, sister! I am clamouring for the magic of right livelihood — what it means for me and how to get there (efficiently, I hope).

    1. That is a wondrous phrase–“the magic of right livelihood.” There’s got to be some magic in those words alone. I am cheering you on, and clamoring for that alongside you. Here’s to a magical efficiency!

  2. “The magic that pools in the hollows of Appalachian valleys where the sun only shines at midday.” What beautiful language – I want to just read and read this, wrap it around myself like a warm blanket…..

    For me the best magic is The Magic of Found Things. Whether it’s a book that sort of jumps off the shelf at me and proves to be the very thing I needed to read at that moment, or the finding of a hawk feather along a path on a glorious Fall Equinox morning when there was a need not quite articulated but seemingly answered by that finding.

    1. Thanks, Peggy! I hold that image in my mind whenever I walk in the woods. I love what you say about The Magic of Found Things–beautiful. I found a hawk’s feather this morning and thought of you.

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