This is a magic rock.
You might not believe me, but let me tell you about it.
Two little girls, one with long blonde hair and the other with dark shiny hair,
found a pack of crayons in the geocache under the tree in the foothills,
and they set to work to create magic rocks to sell to us in exchange
for weeds or my snack or a bigger rock or, really,
anything else that they determined to have value.
They gave me this rock, a pink heart painted onto it like an embodiment
of the day’s shiny joy,
and they said to me,
“You have the power of the moon, Reid.”
I said, “Why, thank you!”
In other words, a woman at church asked me if I believed in miracles,
and I said, “Yes, ma’am, I do.”
Two little girls gave me the power of the moon in a rock smaller than my palm
and, you may not believe me, but I believe in miracles,
and the moon has never shone like it did that night.