Why Should That Mean It Isn't Real?

As a girl I thought

That I could ask the winds to change direction

That I could fix the tree trunk that snapped

Just by mixing up a potion

And saying some magic words that sounded

More like praying than anything else.

Did it work?

Was it just my imagination or

Did my kite take flight when I begged the winds to pick it up?

Did I really see that sapling heal over green

After I sprinkled it with my special tincture

From the empty glass vanilla bottle

I took from the spice cabinet shelf?

Maybe it was all in my head.

I was only a kid, after all.

But my mind's eye and memories tell a story

That makes me smile.

Because even if the winds have no mind at all,

It sure felt like they moved for me

Maybe just because I believed.