Believing in Magic

“Don’t be afraid,” she said reassuringly, “you can do it.”

I smiled to myself…she was 6 and I was much older than 6 and she was the one telling me to be strong…to have a little faith…to believe in magic.

“I used to be able to do this, sweetheart,” I said looking down to the valley so far below. We’d climbed up the mountain together but now, at the summit, I was afraid. “I think I’m too old to believe in magic.”

She smiled…patiently and impatiently in the same instant…and held out her hand. “You never get too old to believe in magic, Papa,” she said guilelessly.

I took a deep breath and took her tiny hand in my ungainly paw of a hand. And, fighting the “wisdom” of my dotage, I stepped forward. We dipped down into the bracing summer’s breeze and then we began to glide…to soar…to fly.

“See?” she said smiling brightly and holding tight to my hand. “I told you so.”

“Yes, you did,” I smiled back feeling the wind in fact and the sun dancing on my back. We were flying…so high above the verdant valley…and believing in magic.

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