we all start out knowing magic. 
we are born with whirlwinds, forest fires, and comets inside us.
we are born able to sing to birds and read the clouds
and see our destiny in grains of sand.
but then we get the magic educated right out of our souls.
we get it churched out
spanked out
washed out
combed out.
we get put on the straight and narrow and told to be responsible.
told to act our age.
told to grow up, for God’s sake.
and you know why we were told that?
because the people doing the telling were afaid
of our wildness and youth,
and because the magic we knew made them ashamed and sad
of what they’d allowed to wither in themselves.

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when a song stirs a memory, when motes of dust turning in a shaft of light takes your attention from the world, when you listen to a train passing on a track at night in the distance and wonder where it might be going, you step beyond who you are and where you are. for the briefest of instants, you have stepped into the magic realm. that’s what i believe.

                       boy’s life. robert r mccammon.