It’s because at that age she didn’t need to learn magic. She
was magic. She was the classic kid
with character. Her voice alone was enough to arrest the attention, and so was
her walk. Her emotional expression was free and captivatingly precocious. Her
frown could freeze the milk in the churn, while her smile could melt an
iceberg.
And then she grew up and became a magazine cover. As a
boyfriend of my daughter’s said to her once: ‘Pretty girls are ten a penny.
It’s character that counts.’ Yes indeed.
But that’s what humans do, isn’t it? They shake off the baby
fat and enter the magical years when every gesture, facial expression and naïve
statement projects character like a young stream in spate. And then it all
fades as they start achieving things which the system tells them is the stuff
of success, at which point they become ordinary and the magic is lost.
* * *
I just did one of those silly quizzes on YouTube. This one
was to determine what my spirit animal is. I got panther.
It’s only partly right because my spirit animal changes
according to the time of day, what mood I’m in, and whether I’ve had a drink or
not. I get through spirit animals like I get through personality types. Well,
almost. I reckon I’m a panther in the afternoon when I’m totally sober, but the
rest of the time I’m mostly a bear.
But did I mention that I had an interesting dream recently
in which I met a panther in the wood? We wrestled until we agreed on a tie and
went our separate ways. Mel did tell me what meeting a panther means in
mystical terms, but I don’t remember what it was. I reckon it’s all to do with
the amount of cheese I eat.
Did I also mention that I’ve developed an addiction to cheese? I
expect I did.
And I just realised that this is the first post of 2019. Another step made, another milestone reached, another reason to seek madness or an ecstasy of longing which amounts to the same thing. (That's from a story I wrote in 2003. Doesn't time fly?)
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