Wishblown

There’s an ancient magic that still exists in the world if you can remember where to find it. It’s nothing complicated, it’s not even a well-kept secret. In fact, chances are wherever you are in the world, you could probably find it right beneath your feet. There are a couple of exceptions, of course: the oceans and the frozen lands. But even in the busiest city streets or on the rockiest mountain sides, you’ll find me if you take the time to look. And then it’s as simple as closing your eyes and making a wish. Maybe you don’t believe me. Maybe you think that a simple child’s pastime couldn’t possibly contain any real magic. But I find that, most of the time, the simplest magic is the most powerful.

The sun rises gloriously over the grassy green hill I’ve called home for the last five days. I stretch my arms wide to capture those delicious warm rays of sunlight and notice I feel different today. Every morning since I emerged from the ground, my arms have felt substantial. One overlapping another and another, and on and on in a solid sunburst of golden color. Today I feel lighter than air. Today everything feels different. Today when the sun rose, I felt soft and delicate, lighter than air. And I know without a doubt that my magic is ready.

There are two ways my magic can be used. The first is with the wind. The wind blows, and carries my wispy seeds around. Some might just see that as science, pollination, the circle of life in action. A flower blooms, the wind spreads its seeds, and a new flower blooms, and on and on forever. But it’s more than that. You see, every wish that’s ever been wished is carried away on the wind. Millions of wishes racing over hills and through forests together, singing a beautiful song of hope and yearning. And when that wind picks up our fluffy white seeds and carries them with it, we get to pick one of those wishes and grant it. 

The other way I can fulfill my purpose, the way I hope it will happen, is if one person plucks me out of the ground, closes their eyes, makes a wish, and blows my seeds right off of my body. It sounds weird, I know. But I’ve always hoped I could have that more personal path to fulfillment. I’ve seen it happen while I’ve grown here, still yellow as the sun. A family will come walking down the nearby path, a child will break away when he or she sees the field of feathery white flowers dancing in the warm breeze. I’ve heard the giggling and felt the joy of each one of them as they blow with all their might, chasing the seeds as they soar through the air around me. And I’ve felt the magic in those moments like a warm, tingly hug. 

Now that my seeds are out, my time is short. If my person doesn’t find me, I’ll be carried away on the wind whether I like it or not. So today I will stand as tall as I can, puff my arms out as wide as they can go, make myself seem bigger, softer, more magical, if that’s possible, all in the hopes of a special child choosing me to make their wish come true.

I spend the day that way, watching and waiting as, one by one, people pass by without looking at any of us, lost in their own thoughts. Only a handful of us get chosen in the morning and each burst of soft magic is like a balm to my soul. As the day wears on though, the heat rises and fewer and fewer people walk down the path. 

The sun is starting to set along with my hopes when I see her stumbling down the path alone. She’s not anything like what I expected. For one, she’s an adult, not a child. She also looks…broken. Not at all like the rosy cheeked children who still believe in magic because nobody’s shown them otherwise. Her hair looks as if it’s been pulled halfway out of the ponytail she put it in and as I watch her, I see her reach her hands into it and pull like she just doesn’t know what else to do. 

She comes to a stop next to me and her shoulders shake in unison with her sobs. Almost as if she doesn’t have the energy to hold herself up, she collapses into the dirt. Tears stream down her cheeks and I wish I could wrap my arms around her, hold her close, tell her everything is going to be okay. I feel the rush of magic as it bursts out of me, racing over the grass and covering her in a golden, sparkling light. Slowly, she stops crying and opens her eyes, looking about her with the same wonder and confusion I’m feeling right now. I’ve never seen this happen before. Maybe it’s only visible between the two of us.

Her eyes follow the path of light until they come to land on me. After a moment, she pulls herself up to her hands and knees and starts crawling carefully over the grass towards me. When she reaches me, she lowers herself to her stomach so that we are staring at each other, eye to eye. Her mouth twists upward at the corners and her whole face changes. Yes, it’s still covered in dried tears and something gross looking coming out of her nose, but there’s also light. Her eyes sparkle just like those little kids from earlier. I can tell that somewhere, deep down, she still believes in magic. 

I wait patiently while she examines me from all angles. When she’s ready, she shifts her body so she can wriggle one arm free, and reaches towards me with trembling fingers. This is it. Carefully, softly, she wraps her fingers around my stem and pulls up, like she’s done this a thousand times before. With a quick snap, I feel myself break away from my roots, feel the magic gathering in my seeds, ready to fulfill my purpose on this earth.

She closes her red-rimmed eyes and takes a shaky breath in, pausing as she silently makes her wish. Then all at once in a powerful burst of air, she releases her breath, sending hundreds of fluffy white seeds dancing and twirling through the air. They gather together and circle her, though her eyes are still closed and she’ll never know it, their magic dancing across her skin and through her hair. And then they’re gone, carried away on a breath and a wish. The magic will do its job. Her wish will be fulfilled. She’ll be okay. And my seeds will find another patch of warm earth to burrow into, ensuring the magic survives and spreads as long as wishes are made.