Wonder, Part One

Finding a theme for the year from a year in the past

Hi, I’m Stace, and this is Magic and Ink, where we talk about magic, fantasy writing, and creative living.

Wonder, Part 1

January 2024

I went for a walk to wonder.
Where can I find wonder
In this suburb gridlocked
By sidewalks and cinderblocks?
Then a sunbeam touched my brow
And bled light into my eyes.

Late January in California
Is early spring, luring
Pink buds to the hedge,
A dandelion waiting to be a wish.
A lemon tree leaned over a fence
Offering small suns for me to pocket.

And the clouds piled up
In the margins of the sky
Of fresh washed blue.

Looking Back to Move Forward

January 2024 was very different from January 2025, and really it was mostly because of rain. The world felt fresh and full of possibilities, so much so that a mid-afternoon walk moved me to poetry — and even a video captured as I composed the verse, and which I shared on Instagram.

January 2025, on the other hand, has just been on fire. Literally so, here in Southern California, where wildfires are still sparking in the hills and burning through communities and lives. And while I’m far from the flames, everything feels desiccated, with ash, dust, and despair coating each inhalation. It doesn’t help that I (and my whole family) got sick at New Years, a probably-not-Covid illness that robbed me of a week of vacation from my day job and has left me with a still-lingering cough and a sense of utter exhaustion that I cannot find the will to push past. We still have the holiday decorations up in the house, because no one can find the energy to care about them when the world (literally and metaphorically) is burning down.

So it was a real gift to open up this poem today, a poem I wrote a year ago tomorrow, and rediscover a little gift of wonder. When things feel dark or heavy or on fire, it’s important to remember that things haven’t always felt this way, and that they will stop feeling this way eventually. I think that is one of the most important things art does for us: carry our memories when we are not strong enough to carry them ourselves.

I think it’s also helped me by shining a light in the direction I need to go to get out from the under the smoke cloud that is stifling me right now. I named this poem “Wonder, Part 1” for a reason, because I knew there was more I had to say about wonder. But wonder and poetry aren’t always right outside your front door, like blossoms hanging over the fence. Sometimes you have to look hard, feel harder, think softer, in order to experience wonder.

So I’m going to go look for it. I don’t think I’ll find it in the same place I did last year. It’s not the same world, and I’m not the same person. But now that I’m looking, I know the path will open for me.

I’m Glad You’re Here!

I was going to segue into some kind of “what’s ahead for Magic & Ink” but my plans are still kind of amorphous (it’s hard to make plans when you feel terrible) (and I don’t have a great record of keeping up with my announced plans for this newsletter anyway).

I do want to welcome my new subscribers, many of who came to join me here when I announced I was going to be deleting my Facebook account in a few days. I’m so glad we can still keep in touch this way!

If you are looking for a little more wonder on Substack, here are some of my favorite writers, artists and creators who continually give me inspiration on my journey:

• Weirdo Poetry by Jason McBride — nature-inspired haiku comics and essays about creativity and wonder

• Forest Wanderer by Whitney Barkman — tender and intimate photographs of the most majestic places

• The Lunar Dispatch by Will Dowd — essays published monthly on the full moon, lighting up the darkness of the soul in unexpected ways

• Talismans Against Boring Culture by Ben Patrick Holden — infusing art with wildness

If this is your first visit to Magic & Ink, please consider subscribing, and if you want to support my work, please buy me a chai!