Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about magic. I don’t mean, ‘Pulling a rabbit from the hat’ type of magic, but the kind of everyday magic that is the mystery of existence. I catch glimpses of it through the bathroom window while I’m brushing my teeth. I sense it when I notice a seedling has broken through the surface of the earth, reborn from the roots of a burned tree. The wildflowers in Tahoe are thriving a year after the fire, and I wonder – is it because of the ash?