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Someday I’ll Learn to Fly 

Will Maguire  copyright@2018

Once there was a jungle and in the jungle was a river. And the river was full of mud.
There each day a herd of rhinoceros swam.
Among them was a very young rhino and like all rhinos he played in the mud and ran with the herd. 
But at night when the jungle was quiet, flying high above the river, he could see birds. 


One day he asked his mother  ‘Mama…will I ever fly?’
She shook her head “No son. The birds have the air and we have the mud.”
“No rhino will ever fly.” 
And the young rhino was sad.


That night he awoke to the sound of a great wind and a light like a star in the sky.
And high above the jungle, flying like a bird, he saw a very old rhino. 
The next day he told his father  “Last night I saw an old rhino fly away.”
“It was just a dream son. No rhino will ever fly.” his father said. 
"Be grateful for the mud.”
The young rhino looked at the river then at the sky.

“Someday Father” he said  “…Someday I’ll learn to fly.”


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Recent posts
Saving Christmas

copyright 2017   Will Maguire


When I lived in NYC in my early 20s there was a panhandler that stood in Times Square next to the Doomsday Preachers.

But instead of hollering “Jesus is coming, the End is Near!’ all day long he would chant the same two lines-

“Living is hard. Living is beautiful
.....The hard is trying to make you beautiful."

By the time I was 23 I had already lived a good bit of loss into me, the kind that makes you turn over at night, because you ‘ve become afraid of your dreams.

I would try each night to sleep but after a few hours would go out and walk the city streets, just hoping to exhaust myself.

That year, in mid December, a blizzard blew in.  5 degrees, a foot of snow on the ground.

I didn’t care. My dreams were far colder so I bundled up and started down Third Avenue, alone once more  in a storm on the deserted streets.

It was the first fall that year.

The first fall is always the hardest. The heart of the city isn’t ready for the cold, s…
Chopin’s Heart
copyright@2017Will Maguire



At 39, in his artistic prime, the composer Frederick Chopin began to feel a nagging and then constant ache in his chest.
That year he had been in a tempestuous and ultimately ruinous affair with a woman, but only later did it become clear that the pain was a medical issue.
She loved him, but Chopin lived the financially insecure life often demanded of an artist. 
So she gave herself to a man that could better provide for her and they both went on ruined in the way that love can ruin two souls simply by the knowledge of each other’s existence.
She became someone else’s wife and then a mother and lived with a tepid affection for her innocent husband…haunted by that rare Supposed to Be passion that she had given up.
Chopin for his part took what was given...which is to say what was taken, and used the longing to forge a music. 
It was the sound of a heart fractured by its own feeling. 
Later that year, over the course of a few months the pain in h…
Mothers Day

W. Maguire        copyright 2017



The last time my mother knew me was a few years ago on Mother's Day.

She had started forgetting and remembering in the wrong order.

Forgetting the things around her, remembering the distant past...like Time was suddenly dyslexic.

They had her in this hospital ward for the elderly on some back street off the main drag called Memory Lane

Memory Lane would be funny if it wasn’t so cruel. Sometimes living's the same way.

She kept asking for a mirror but didn't recognize herself anymore.

She was 17 again but trapped in an 80 year old body. A young girl staring in disbelief at the person she would become.

She didn’t know her husband or daughters or sons anymore.

Some days she thought I was her long dead uncle or her brother. And near the end she thought I was her father.

She pleaded with me again and again to let her see that Irish boy that was just back from the war, the one that got shot in the head and survived and kept knocking on…