Indeed, we get used to and become ungrateful to the daily good. We value health only when we wash through the 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 radius of a meter. 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 check in for a flight to other countries. We order fashionable glasses and monocles. Aukaem. We peep through the keyhole. We sniff and rummage in the closets. 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 "House by the Lake?" 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. Not requiring much effort and proof. Morning painted over in the color of billiard cloth. The sky in a wig of a swampy cloud. Slightly unclear sun. Puppy trying to eat the hat. Blooming amaryllis. Turkish coffee and cardamom granule. A branch of greenish 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. A pigeon climbing too high. Laughter from what is ticklish. The smell of corn sticks. Dress in the style of the 60s. Letters written a hundred years ago and tracery shadows on the walls.
Einstein has a wonderful phrase about two ways to live life. One of them is as if miracles do not happen, second of them as if the whole life is a miracle.