The Magic of Nature

She dreamed of a magic they call fantastical. A glow of something cast off in a world of glittering unicorns and wings sending small sparkles into the air that emanate gold and beauty of breeze.

A world that does not exist.

In her dreams, magic flowed from between her fingers. She developed wings, set fire aglow from pure nothingness, cracked lighting in the night sky and painted rainbows with mere desire. Thoughts of abandoning nature coursed through her mind as she walked, talked, laughed, played, cried and ate.

Life is easier when presence is pushed so far back, that it slowly shrivels, withers and chokes till all that's left is a concealed skeleton of a world that once flourished.

The small plants in her backyard woods stared at her in unmoving agony. If only she can intertwine a measure of magic and cause them to enlighten, expand and grow into a giant, color- glorified flower-flag of fame.

She twitched her fingers hungrily, her skin warm from the sun as it rubbed against the stem of a hidden flower, concealing its beauty of pedals from the inquisitive world. She breathed in. Felt her soul. Searched her insides. Peered through every aspect of her personality.

But, dissapointment consumed her. Magic was known only to emerge from within the soul at a time of peace for the body possesing it.

Yet, peace was something her soul did not achieve. Peace was something that reigned in those from a different galaxy. Those whree men were made with power and children with the potential of it adn no nature to bound them to limits.

The air was still and dry and the stem remained subdude and silent. Her legs dragged her bare toes through the tickling stalks of fresh grass, controled and powered by something other than her.

To admit defeat is tough. To surrender on control is tough. Yet only stupidity sears when it is realized and recognized that control never existed and never will exist in the realms of humanity. But stupidity sometimes hides in the form of a dream. And dreams are told to be followed.

But, when the first streaks of vibrant sunlight hit across the moonlight, conquered the sky and kissed the earth, the stem had inched upward and the pedals had startred to sprout.

Some kind of magical ritual had taken place in the face of the sun and in the absorbmant of the soft morning dew in the will of Someone.

She watched the pedals extend into reaching every day from then on. She scrutinized the various colors take presence with every glorious sunrise on the horizon.

Until the day came when the air glowed a gold breeze. When sparkles seemed to brighten the air, when unicorns were not needed to create smiles, when wings were not needed to fly. When magic was no longer needed to live.

The flower had sprouted, the pedals open to the air as a palm to another. It waved in the atmosphere like a grin that floats, like a lake that rocks to and fro.

She plucked the flower out of the ground and lifted it to her nostrils. A vibrant, magical scent wafted through her body, overtaking every fiber of her yearning. Her hair waved slightly in the soft breeze and she closed her eyes in the face of the magnifacent magic they call nature and the power of G-d.