If the forgotten anniversary had involved another actual being, well, it could have gotten ugly. As the partnership is with my blog which is (a) probably not self-aware and (b) forgiving, I can dope-slap my own back-of-the-head and move along. On August 4, it was four years since the first post. I am scowlingly harsh with myself for lack of consistency on all fronts. Yet here I still am.
Magic, as I interpret its manifestations, calls to me more insistently all the time. Of course that is slight exaggeration for one of magic's shiny attributes is its quiet voice. Magic gets our attention with the sentence we can't quite hear. We become more attentive and hope it speaks again. When I see its face, I share it here. If I witness magic at work, I am all a'tremor until I can tell the story. Looking back, I suspect it was magic that kept elbowing me to start a blog. Clever sprite, it spoke through my friend Lisa. I wasn't sure why I was doing such a thing; I had no idea what I'd say.
So four years pass. In the last two days what I'm doing here has become clearer, with the photos of the children, the example of ceramic art that feels like kin or part of me. This is not at odds with what I've done all along; I am more aware that it is an official assignment and not volunteer dilly-dallying. I am sure magic knows how far from our true natures we have wandered. It misses us and wants us back. It signals to us constantly, regularly. No one could overlook the awe of a summer meteor shower but a kissing monkey named Crystal (perhaps a story for another day) might be misleading. In newspaper language, I wonder what this beat would be called, though it doesn't matter. This has always been my real job. I'm going to need new business cards.