Indeed, we get used to and become ungrateful to the daily good. We value health only when we wash ourselves all night with a toothache, fresh air after a week of summer heat, and peace during war. We definitely need the bad to strike, and then, against the background of darkness, we finally notice the light.

Only magic in the most ordinary things. In those that are at arm's length. Within a meter radius. It has been following us on our heels for many years, and for the same amount of time we have been trying to find it in other apartments, cities, niches. We are all looking for something. Maybe the Argentine sun? Parisian Marais? Norwegian cheese that looks like boiled condensed milk or a relationship like the movie "Lake House?" In short, "we want this, we don't know what," just not what we have at this stage.

But the real magic is quiet. Simple. It does not require much effort and proof. Turkish coffee and cardamom granule. A branch of bananas on an old family dish and a bowl of homemade mustard. Morning conversation with my mother that the neighbor was discharged from the hospital, and in honor of this event she is going to bake an Ossetian pie. Washed subway cars. Warm snow in the area of ​​the heating main. Long-legged purple irises in a children's book. A pigeon climbing too high. Tickets for the Nutcracker. Laughter from what is ticklish. The smell of corn sticks. Elderly Neighborhood Promenade. Dress in the style of the 60s. Favorite tablecloth in unpretentious lupine.

Einstein has a wonderful phrase about two ways to live life. One of them is as if miracles do not happen, and the second, as if all life is a miracle. Max Fry asks not to even try to explain something magical, it spoils from this. It's just a pity that "a daily miracle is not a miracle", and foliage becomes magical only after a long winter.

Magic, it is only in the most ordinary things!