Deep in the forest lived a woman in a small cabin all by herself. She didn’t mind living alone, in fact she wasn’t alone. She had the birds and the foxes and the squirrels as her friends. Also, she had a unicorn.
She named her unicorn Moonbeam because it arrived to her cabin on a full moon night. She awakened and the unicorn was standing there beneath the bright glow of the smiling moon. The woman wove roses and daisies into the unicorn’s mane and rode it by the river each morning so the unicorn could drink from the clear water which ran down from the mountain peaks. Silver fish with yellow fins would leap out of the water with joy at the sight of Moonbeam.
At night in her pretty little bed, the woman would open up her curtains and stare at the stars and make wishes upon each one. All her wishes were different, but all were happy and kind. Now and then she would have a visitor from the nearby village at the base of Blue Mountain. The woman grew up in the village though she never visited there anymore. She was content in her cabin.
She would read tea leaves using her lavender tea and china cups. Some of the people in the village called the woman a gypsy, which wasn’t a good thing to be called then, and warned people not to go to the cabin. But this did not deter certain villagers and they would bring the woman warm pumpkin bread, rich stew or ripe cherries and tiny frosted cakes. There were rumors that the mushrooms that grew around the woman’s cabin were either poisonous or magical, but some people still tried to pick them but they would tug and yank and they mushroom would not budge. Only the woman could pick them.
She fed them to Moonbeam and the unicorn liked them very much. Then one day a visitor came to her cabin and knocked on the door. She opened it and there stood a man with rooster feathers in his hat.
Alright so you are thinking I must have eaten some magic mushrooms myself. No my latest kick is champagne. I love the bubbles. Seriously, I was thinking of writing something about well, writing, or about being a waitress but realized I needed something magical in my life. I understand reality. I accept the responsibilities of home ownership, of washing my car and paying bills.
However, I don’t want to be such a grownup that I forget about magic. In fact, it’s essential and not just for writers. Sure writers need imagination to create, but we all need to have a vision of something beyond what we can see with our eyes. With our imagination, skyscrapers get built, and life saving medicines get invented and novels get written. Skill plus imagination is a winning combination. Oh that sounds like a advertisement for tennis shoes.
People will sometimes ask writers where they get their ideas. My goodness. We might have to look up from our cell phones or computer screen now and then, but they are there. Even the writer Jane Austen, who lived in a small English village and didn’t have the Internet, put her imagination to work and invented some unforgettable characters. We don’t have to travel the globe. It’s right outside our door. Put on the imagination glasses. Everything I photographed above exists in the real world. Even the unicorn.
There’s magic all around. So sure there are bills to pay, groceries to buy and chores to do, but if we can take to stop now and then and appreciate the magic in our world then maybe life will sparkle just that much more. Now back to that little cabin in the woods.