Choose to Look for Magic

Where I grew up there was mostly concrete. We lived on the border between Long Island and Queens. I longed for many things that were missing in my

life — a father, happiness, security. But mostly, I yearned for trees.

Our houses were built on old potato farms and there were no trees, just flat land. Every house was the same and everything that had been planted was brand new.

Maybe that was why I dreamed of trees every night, and of woods that I could walk through. I thought I’d find magic there.

In the winter when the drifts were so high that all traffic on the Southern State Parkway was stopped by roadblocks, I wanted to be in a tropical landscape. I

wanted a place where it was so quiet I could see birds no one had ever seen before. That would be the moment when the magic would happen.

I knew that if I looked hard enough I would find what I was looking for. I’d read about such things. I stopped seeing concrete, highways, fences, asphalt. It all

disappeared as if a tidal wave had come.

I saw miracles in the grass, in the thin branches of newly planted trees, in the dark where there were fireflies. I saw them on a chain link fence where the ivy twined

around the metal and the fence became a green, living thing.

Even now, sitting in a garden is magic. When I am in despair this is still what I long for: The sound of bees, the way the wind moves through branches.

Something will appear. Something will vanish. That’s part of the magic. Nothing lasts, but there’s always something surprisingly new.

Where I grew up, the trees are now taller than the houses. It happened by magic. Over the years. Overnight. That’s the way it works. When you least expect it, the

world changes. Something blooms. Something is beautiful.

I think I discovered magic at the same time I discovered I could hide in the garden and be away from the fighting inside my house. I grew fairy flowers from seed

beneath the pine trees. No one else ever saw them, but I knew they were there.

I can’t help but wonder if there is a little girl sitting in the backyard where I used to sit, thinking about magic. If she’ll choose something completely different than I did to help her get through her times of sorrow. A child’s sorrow can be loud or it can be so quiet you can barely hear it. You have to use magic, otherwise you’ll miss it completely. You have to see what’s not there.

Sometimes your dreams are what saves you, and my dreams were of trees. In the leaves, I looked for magic, and it was there. In every fairy tale, you have to walk

through the woods. You have to find your own way. Keep going, follow the path, and before you know it you’re there.

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