I bought myself a passionfruit ice cream and went walking beneath the trees. Because the world is a difficult place and I tend to bruise easily, so every now and again it is wisdom to get the ice cream, go for the walk.
I thought it would be a magical little moment. But the thing about making such moments is that you really can't. Magic isn't something we weave together like string between our fingers. I don't exactly know what it is ... perhaps a living, loving thing that dwells in one layer of our lives? And sometimes it seeps through to this moment, or that moment, and we feel its gentle sigh against our hearts.
Or perhaps its the blush of life.
I want to have a relationship with magic, which is why I don't do witchery. It's the same as with writing - I believe creativity is something which meets us in conversation, rather than our manipulation of an inner resource or impersonal force of energy. So "magic" for me is about welcoming in the loving dweller, or life's blush, or the smile of Mother Heaven - about seeing it, and feeling it, and knowing how to find space for it in my heart and life.
And knowing when I can't.
My ice cream was magic because passionfruit. But my walk was, to be honest, boring and a little uncomfortable. No flowers anywhere, for a start. The truth was, though, I didn't need magic. I just needed to do something caring for myself. That's where the goodness lay in that moment. Not everything has to be profound.