Do you ever have those moments where you just feel intensely alive and human? Like today when I was biking back from school and just picked up speed as I rounded the corner where the kids lined up to pile onto the bus. My speed poured the coolness of the soft and sweet September air across my face and autumn filled my lungs. I watched the crowd, pondering postures and feelings behind faces, guessing futures in their gazes. Not everyone does this, it occurred to me, as hydraulics puffed to pry the doors, students hoisted themselves aboard, and the box of stories lurched away. People from big cities don’t do that, do they? There’s a street I need to watch, I think.
I grew up, on car rides, watching each rare passing face. I’m from where people live spread out, like trees on the savannah. Civilization holds my homeland with a loose grip and it’s just only got hold. I watch walkers on sidewalks because I behave how I was raised– not just by my family, but by history and my patch of earth. We choose our words and actions, but birth is magic and we’re all born under different spells—cultures, climates, landscapes, stories we know and don’t know, all swirled in a cauldron before we ever breathed. And all the stories passing by were spawned from different cauldrons. My spells made me look at people. Imagining their spells. Knowing this I never want to judge. We’re all magic.