Believing in the improbable isn’t such a bad thing

Why I choose to believe in magic

Photo by Author

The hummingbirds don’t show up in my yard each spring because of some otherworldly force. They’re probably not bringing me a message from the dead. They come because I put red-capped feeders filled with nectar on my porch and in my yard and on my office window (affixed with suction cups.) But knowing this doesn’t entirely dispel the magic of these birds or my hope that maybe they’re bringing me a message from one particular dead girl.

This is why I say, “Hi Ana,” when I see the first iridescent hummingbird materialize out of the ether in early May.

Logically, I know it’s here because I lured it with ruby-colored plastic and sweet nectar, but maybe I’m wrong. Who really knows how this works? That the birds are here to eat doesn’t completely dispel the bright cloud of hope that descends when they arrive, tiny and magnificent.

So what if I believe that some birds are messengers from the dead or that certain objects are signs or that there’s more to this world than we can see?

So what if I throw myself into the believing, looking up at full moons convinced there’s some kind of magic at play, that I could cast a spell if I really wanted to? So what if I toss spilled salt over my shoulder to protect myself…