It may not have looked like much. Kind of slow. Soft. Not at all dramatic. But it felt good having him back. Good to grab onto him. Good to feel him moving, hear him breathe in and out.

Maybe not much for those who were watching. Maybe nothing when compared to the greats I read about. Those who took it to the world, stuck their necks out. Did it for real against all challengers -- a little magic for the few who were there.

Even if I can't bring myself to believe.

But there is, maybe, a magic of sorts. There is magic in every next breath we take. There is magic in every innocent we don't hurt. There is magic in every gift we give, and I don't need to go looking for it in a book. I know it in the flesh.

Maybe there were men who could not be bettered. Maybe there were teachers who, with their words, changed the world. Maybe the arts a few give their life to die when they do. I don't really know.

But I'm certain what I'm trying. I know it when I see it.

The world has grown... maybe too much. But a corner will be better than it was, than it ever could have been -- for a few friends who give each other so much -- that is magic enough.