When I was a little girl, there was a birch tree in our front yard; so big and tall that I was sure that it grew while I slept. I was wholly convinced that a tree so tall couldn't grow with just soil and water and sunshine, that Mother Earth must have given it a pinch of magic too.
Every morning I would wake with nerves on edge until I could race downstairs and wrap my arms around the marvelous tree. I'd stretch and stretch until the tips of my fingers just grazed each other, and though it was the same every morning, I consoled myself. Just because the tree wasn't getting any wider didn't mean that it wasn't growing taller.
Just because I couldn't see it, didn't mean that it wasn't magic.