magic

This was not magic, it represents the last three days of sorting, organizing, and cleaning. As does this:

But there was some magic in discovering a poem I saved from where or when, I have no idea. The title is Magic, the author Loren Eiseley. I can not find it online, I only have a paper copy, I must have xeroxed from a book. It opens with:

"Magic, an anthropologist once said,
                    simply was from the beginning.
                                                        It was never
created or invented.
                               It travels across time
because of the treacherous imponderables
                                       like death
with which man has to cope."

This struck a deep note in me, the week before magic had been discussed during after yoga coffee in the context of how a grandchild would ever be able to her grandfather in heaven. Because it would be so crowded. Her grandmother responded to her that it was magic and not to worry. The grandchild's response was, oh good then, because I know Gus (her departed dog) has found Lolo (her grandfather).
So I believe in magic, how else would I have found the lost, buried, poem?