There have been many years pass without reading this book… it’s unbelievable that it just happened…  finished today and this might need to become a yearly tradition, maybe on New Year’s Day!  Many copies, in different forms, reside on my bookshelf. (a few purchased for the illustrations of Tasha Tudor)  It wasn’t until this copy was purchased that I actually sat down and read the entire book which had been started many times. Thank you Margaret Glaser of Keokuk, Iowa, (the inscription inside the front cover) whoever and wherever you are, for sharing your copy with me.

This was a tough one since text that makes a special impression is always bookmarked during a read… there were lots of bookmarks!  Possibly every page could have been bookmarked.  Some of the favorites…

“Don’t let us make it tidy,” said Mary anxiously.  “It wouldn’t seem like a secret garden if it was tidy.”

Mary could scarcely bear to leave him. Suddenly it seemed as if he might be a sort of wood fairy who might be gone when she came into the garden again.

“You can have as much earth as you want,” he said.  “You remind me of some one else who loved the earth and things that grow.  When you see a bit of earth you want,” with something like a smile, “take it, child, and make it come alive.”

One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever.  One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands alone and throws one’s head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one’s heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun — which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years.  One knows it then for a moment or two.  And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries.  Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in some one’s eyes.

Everything is made out of Magic, leaves and trees, flowers and birds, badgers and foxes and squirrels and people.  So it must be all around us.

“Where you tend a rose, my lad,
A thistle cannot grow.”

The chapter titles themselves almost tell the story!

There are several months of cold before the Magic will make the daffydowndillys bloom in my own garden… I will wait patiently through these freezing days… maybe even read this beautiful story again.

~ by kcjewel on December 6, 2009.

2 Responses to “Magic”

  1. That’s one of the best book reviews I’ve ever read!

  2. A review that shows the love of the story.
    Beautifully photographed, too.

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