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Allowing for Magic

A Collection of Poetry and Prose

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@allowingformagic

The light is slowly returning. February is always a curious month. The sunsets are beginning to turn orange instead of pink. The sun is beginning to melt things, even though it is still cold. There is a subtle freshness in the freezing air. I sit by my window almost every morning here. I watch the birds and the cars and the people, and it is peaceful. But it is also loud here, and I have not slept well in a month. And so I wait for the sun and the warmth and the shift and the change and the leaving. For now, I am here.

I somehow woke up with this darling little wave in my hair yesterday and I may never have such luck again.

Morning is easily my favorite time of day. Quiet and new and fresh. Last night’s dreams still lingering behind my eyes. The light feels like a blessing, no matter how the earth is tilted. And I have been thinking of time recently. What it really is. How we perceive it. A day is, in some ways, the smallest measure of time (not minutes or milliseconds), because a day is the only measure that we truly experience with our bodies and our senses. My body doesn’t innately know what a minute is. But it knows the rhythm of a day. We are spinning, spinning, spinning. And all things can happen within that space.

© 2016-2018 Amanda Balgaard. All Rights Reserved.

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