It's Magic

This has become my favorite saying from my fellow Scottish WWOOFer while getting adjusted to farm life. Everything "is magic." From the taste of homemade barley soups to a glorious sunset New Zealand sky -- it is a world of fairies and unicorns to her. Some Gaelic folklore mystical tale, no doubt, for each taste and precious moment of nature. And it's appropriate. I do believe this experience is magic. Well, at least enough where I find myself living out childhood fantasies of Anne of Green Gables. My WWOOF host the dearest soft spoken "Matthew" if there ever was one, sharing morning stories of wisdom over cups of hot tea and homemade bread slathered in blackcurrant jam and yogurt (all made here on the farm). It's not delicious, it's magic, of course. Am I really wrapped in blankets by a crackling woodstove fire as the sun rises? Did stories of far off African tribes who's cultural motto is "listen as if your life depended on it" become the morning conversation of silent meadows found only at the 5am hour? Surely, Miranda will come into the kitchen soon and tell me "no more nonsense." But right now, I have snuck outside to munch on mint from the garden and sort out thoughts in the witching hour of night with a full moon to illuminate my keyboard. Sensible will have to wait as I can't help but believe in the mystical world around me. So I will. Tonight, it's magic.