Come and you will understand. I didn't believe in magic either, until I felt that moment swirl around me in lights and screeches and wind and stars. In the city she's a damn nuisance, I'll admit. Who isn't a nuisance in the city? Get her alone on a cold night, trap her as she passes through a narrow place, and you will understand her.
How many nights have I made my way down to the river at night--sometimes with friends, sometimes with lovers, usually alone. The planks are too close to walk comfortably; I balance on the rail sometimes if someone is there to hold my hand. My feet mark the snow. The sky is purple from the city far away, the earth white in the moonlight, and the night mine.
I can hear her before I see her. I cannot tell where she is: far or near, north or south. It could be her ghost across the river or coyotes in the distance, until her harsh scream reveals her. Then her light yellows the tress and dazzles the tracks; stand by. Let her pass. Closer and closer, brighter and louder. Stay and feel her pull you in as she flies by. Close your eyes. Feel the wind wrap around you and listen to the rattle, the screeching, the speed.
And she is gone. The trees still feel her wind-trail and rustle quietly, and you are alone.
Now do you understand?