Magic. Not the abracadabra kind. Not the make wishes come true kind. Not the black caldron of spells kind. But the kind you find within yourself. The kind you find when you accomplish the impossible. The little spark inside your heart when you find a dream.
She used to chase that magic on the field, in the circle. Spinning and striking, swinging and swiping. Then she chased it in the arena, collecting and clearing, cadencing and celebrating.
But now, that magic is found not in her awards, as her dreams wait their turn. But in little fingers, little toes. Big smiles and baby curls. In fixing boo boos with one kiss. In words like “mama” and “more,” “hug” and “hooray.” In arms reaching up. In first tastes of something new. In new feats figured out.
In their precious heart beats.
Some say her magic has been lost. But she says it’s only just begun.
One Word at a Time 