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One Thousand Club
"Magic can mean different things to different people. For some, it is pulling a rabbit from a top hat or sawing a person in half and then, hopefully, putting them back together again. For others, magic is a crisp autumn’s day or a tender hug from a loved one. For me, magic can be a story, a game, a puzzle, or a surprise that takes my breath away in a single, furious gulp."
Turning the page of the old, worn-out paperback, camp counselor Jack continues.
"You see, magic comes in all shapes and sizes and colors and tastes and smells and feelings. Magic may even come in the shape of a book—perhaps the very one you’re holding now. Or not. I don’t want to get ahead of myself."
"But sometimes you might have a hard time remembering to seek out the magic in the world, just like the boy in this book. You might be too busy twirling cotton candy or too distracted by birds sitting on the windowsill or too tired from organizing the attic to notice—but I assure you, magic does exist. You just have to know where to look. Use your nose! Or your tongue! Or your eyes! Or your brain! Of course, sometimes you can make it happen yourself."
Jack reads on through the novel as the brazen campfire casts a curious and flamboyant glare upon the children at Frenchwoods Camp of Magic. The night dwindles on, and as the buzzing of mosquitoes turns to the howling of coyotes, a loose yawn is the only thing that breaks the intense concentration of the tale's listeners. Later, the half-asleep children retire to their ramshackle cabins, crawl into their bunks, and sleep until the sun rises.
