By Brianna Wasil
They say magic isn’t real
Perhaps it isn’t, but only some illusion that plays in our minds
The grand scheme that’s revealed
By the first winter sign
The subtle change in the direction of the wind,
A cold front to soon follow,
How it never seems to come,
But then suddenly arrives by tomorrow
To wake up and be met
By an extension of a world
Where there’s an automatic lightness,
Matched with a softness of flurries swirling,
Layered in flawless, velvety feathers
That dance for an eternity together
In the midst of a winter wonderland
Where there’s a tranquility in everything seen
An indescribable magic expands
That makes everything a possibility.
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