Let's talk about magic for a minute. Not the Hogwarts magic (although definitely amazing). I want to talk about the kind of magic that happens in the ordinary world around us. The kind of magic that gives you goosebumps, the kind of magic that births dejavu, the kind of big magic that happens within us when everything comes together.
I'm a believer that magic comes to you when you need it most. Like a breath of air when you're drowning. On the road so far we've had a lot of highs and lows. Much like the rolling hills that we travel down. Times of pure magic. Times of exhausted darkness. We've seen more sunsets, sunrises, and stars than we have in years. We've had more long talks and held gazes. We've also snapped at each other and been on the edge of losing it more than we have in awhile.
We had set up camp after a particularly long day. Lucy June had just not wanted to be in the truck. She clung to my chest laughing and crying at the same time when I opened the door to try to put her in her car seat. It's heart wrenching. She cried off and on all day thanks to fatigue and four giant molars cutting their way into her mouth. When we arrived at camp she was done.
Sometimes distraction is our best friend. So she and I embarked on a small hike. We soaked in the sun, the new green of spring, and became flush with exertion. But by the time we came back we were both done. No one knows the fatigue of being on the road until you do it. And we were all feeling its full weight that night. By the time we had made it through a screaming dinner and put her to bed, Zach and I sat in a crushing silence. Fatigue is also the bringer of doubt. It whispers to you about your faults--your insecurities--your regrets.
Out of the darkness glided a Luna moth. Silent and gliding making large graceful loops into the lamp light. It mesmerized us. Brought us out of our own selfish thoughts to gaze at its translucent beauty. It was magic. The magic of childhood summers and teenage twilights. That deep breath of fresh air. Big magic in small ways.