Deep in the brush filth above the north pasture a rabbit gave the shrill death cry before the soft owl fell from the moon, and she thought: 'Deed, it… - Davis Grubb

Christmastide and a good heart’s breath against a cold pane are enough to bring lost faces back in evergreen eternity.

He thought again of the watch in the window. It had twelve black numbers on its moon face and there was magic to that. For these were numbers that were not really numbers at all but letters like in words. He shivered at the possibilities of such untold magic.

The mirror’s Magic—that mirror—the one he gave me—because it tells me the sweetest lies about myself! I’ve looked into it time and time again since then—by daylight—by lamplight—by moon and starshine—and each time that dear little mirror says: Jewel Luchak, you’re the prettiest girl in twelve green counties! Mayra smiled and thought silently to herself: Couldn't it be, my child, that the Magic's not in the mirror at all? Couldn't it be that it's having someone love you is making you prettier all the time?