what the snow angel saw
what actual angels saw
let there be magic.
let it begin now.
create from joy.
i send you an angel,
from my heart to yours.
This is how it began...
"2013 has declared itself to be The Year of Ordinary Magic.
Because you don't have to be a child to see the world through the eyes of one.
All you have to do is remember.
I hadn't really chosen a word for this year, though I had thought about declaring it the Year of Simply Being. You know, no agenda, no plans to lose this or gain that, just being.
But then, just as least year declared itself the Year of Discarding, 2013 quite suddenly decided to be the Year of Ordinary Magic. Which is not just any kind of magic, but rather the simple, everyday kind. The magic in the firefly that dances outside your window. The shape of a shadow that does not reveal its source. The flower that only opens in the moonlight. The joy of falling backwards in the snow, not caring if you get some down your neck, up your sleeves, in your hair.
There is wonder all around us. But sometimes, we forget to remember to look.
It all started with a a post my friend Graciel did, about letting go and rolling in the grass, to which my response was: "It's too cold to roll in the grass just now, but if we get enough snow, I promise to make a snow angel."
She held me to that promise, and we made a plan to make snow angels and then post the results. And then we had to wait for the right weather, and then for me to get over the flu. And then we invited another friend, debi, who lives a magical life in Texas, to join us by making her own kind of angel, because, well, snow isn't easy to come by in Texas.
And there it was: "We should do this periodically throughout the year."
So yesterday morning I donned my husband's big old gold and purple hooded puffy Vikings coat and a pair of red and black ski pants and my purple rain boots (yes, I looked like a dork) and I went out to the front lawn, (yes, the front, where everyone could see) and made a snow angel.
I can't remember the last time I did that. Perhaps when my son was a child, twenty-some-odd years ago.
And it was fun. It was snowing big, fluffy snow-globe flakes. The snow is so deep that it caught me gently as I fell backwards, and I lay there looking up at the grey January sky, and giggled. And it was magic. One tiny moment of ordinary magic.
So here's the thing: we want you to join us. Look for the magic, all year long. And then share it with the world.
It doesn't matter how you choose to participate. With a photo, a blog post, a tweet or a status. It doesn't matter how often. Once a week, once a month, regularly, sporadically, or only just once.
Because it's magic, remember? And there are no rules in magic.
All you have to do is keep your eyes open.