Dappled in sunlight, I know you knew what Big Magic was.
Creating for creating’s sake.
Crystals. Cats. Knitting. Sewing. Painting.
Your workshop in the backyard a myriad of tools, rocks, boxes of things I never quite knew what for.
A child’s paradise.
There was always something you were doing when I visited.
Knitting needles on your stool. A half-finished painting. Bits and pieces and paints lying around.
Back then I thought it was mess. Now I know it was magic.
I was too young to ask what you did with all these creations.
Did you sell them? Dad tells me that you didn’t. You gave the toys you used to knit to the sick kids at the hospital.
Once you knitted a family of cats. All of different sizes. You were so clever. I thought these where the best.
You even made a bird out of stones.
You were taken before we could talk about what Big Magic was.
Before I became a teenager. Before I became and adult, and discovered Big Magic.
I’d love to talk to you about it now.
But instead I wait until you visit me in my dreams, as you sometimes do.
I miss you Grandma, and your cat that liked to dance in the rain.