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The grey clouds, mysterious but somewhat calming, smothered the sky in a shadowy darkness. My eyes were drawn to the cherry blossom tree across the park. How the droplets from previous rain didn’t ruin the tree but simply reflected a glistening beauty. The warm and charming colors of baby pinks, create this contrast against the near brewing storm. The way the blossom tree brought peace and tranquility to the busy London street. A feeling of magic. I feel the warm breeze as it softly touches my skin. The sweet smell of cherry blossoms diffused in the air. They would forever remind me of my childhood.
Sitting on the window seat looking out at the open window of the bookstore. A beautiful bookstore on Piccadilly St, London. I couldn’t believe I worked here. It was everything I had dreamt of since I was a child and it helped me to pay my university fees. I couldn’t believe I was turning 20.
I often would stay back on a Saturday after the store had closed and curl up under the window seat and read.
The flicker of the soft golden light of a candle on the window sill allowed me to reminisce. I began to daze into faded memories.
“Those who don’t believe in magic will never find it.” My Grandmother placed the Roald Dahl book on the side of the table. She gave off a warm smile, the type of smile that embraced you. She was a dreamer like me.
“Wait, is that it? But magic is only in books.” I said slightly perplexed.
Her olive green eyes edged with golden brown specks, filled with bewilderment. She had such a young spirit about her.
“You’re a child you’re filled with magic”
This memory was one I cherished from my childhood.
My heart ached with such sadness when I remembered a phone call I had received from my Dad earlier this year.
“Lily, I am sorry. But we have just found out your grandmother has Alzheimer’s.”
I remember this day vividly. My mother had died in a car accident when I was younger and my Grandma was my closest connection to her.
“Grandma, what do you mean by magic being with people who believe in it?” My eight-year-old self questioned.
“Lily, it is the places you go, the people you meet, and the memories you make that create magic in your life. When you’re a kid everything’s new, dawn. It’s just when you get used to everything that it’s day. For your memories are golden.”
“What is magical in your life?”
“There are so many things. But one thing you should know is that all my grandchildren bring me so much joy and know that I love you all so much.”
As my lips began to tremble, fresh tears rolled down my face. It was then looking back that I realized how golden my Grandma was.
This past year, I made a life decision. I wrote a book for her. I finished a story, a story she told me about how the magic of childhood can last your whole life.
She looked at me with those same eyes. Her golden eyes were like the colors of the first dawn. A youth that would never fade. A dawn that shone with its brightest colors.
I began to read to her as she read to me.
“To my Grandma for she once told me that for those who don’t believe–”
“–In magic will never find it,” my grandma finished.
Even though my Grandma was losing her memory, her life would always be magical in my eyes. In life, your childhood is one of the most magical times but who says it has to end when you start to grow up? As Grandma said every day can be a new dawn. Both the cherry blossoms and my grandmother would forever be that way.
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