Magic: Cassandra Kulay

The air is damp and clear, the storms
are never too severe, mud and dirt
are everywhere, waiting to give birth
to plants and flowers, bunnies run
rampant, the outdoors works its magic
on my soul, I feel so free, everything
looks good to me, the renewal of life
comes so easily, to the earth we owe
our gratitude, to the planet all of our
experiences, to the senses our
awakening, to each other both war
and camaraderie. The dance we dance
is a continuous masque, telling a story
of lightness and morality threatened
by evil overshadowing, the sun in a
blue sky, a smudge of white cloud,
the season whispers in my ear, but
softly, not too loud, love me, praise
me, even revere the god that made me.
Miraculous spring sleeps under every
winter snow. Feel the magic, heal our
problems, believe our freezing edges
will soften, melt into puddles children
joyfully jump in, bow to the power, pay
homage, don’t cower away from the
fundamental questions of existence,
celebrate the beauty to which you
are witness.