Leave the magic alone.

Do not prove to me how rocks in the desert move over thin sheets of ice – let their tracks and trails remain a mystery.

Do not tell me that water does not react to the feelings around it at a molecular level – do not disprove Masau’s concepts – allow me to be mesmerized by possibility, by unicorns in my back yard.

I refuse to believe that *I* end at the edges of my skin.  I believe in quarks and the gluon that holds the universe together even if it is not yet measurable.  I will continue to watch the sun’s progress across  the sky, bow to the moon’s borrowed shine laying itself across the water, phosphorescence in competition.  I will whisper secrets into whorled shells, place them on the sand at tide line. bless the person I will never know who picks them up, takes them home, listens nightly to my stored story, finds themselves yearning for desert darkness, sliding stones, distant stars and water that remembers their name.