That afternoon

Memory from long ago.
You are a pig tailed little girl, biting into a Mango. Donot believe in spoons and knifes, and have icky sweet fruit as a part of your makeup scheme. You finish and stare deliriously happy at the seed. You skip behind your Grampa as he leads you to the backyard. You watch as he expertly digs into the brown Earth and help bury the seed. Make a mud pie to mark the spot.
Years roll by. It is a warm afternoon and you are reading a book, sipping tea beneath a Mango tree. There is warm sunshine dancing at your feet, an occasional yellow leaf drifts on the page.
Things are different now. You would trade all the mangoes in the world to talk to those friendly eyes once again. Giggle at stories about elephants.
You get back to your book, gulp down the tea. And then one brief moment, you look at the fence. There you see it. A little baby mongoose. Scurrying around below little purple flowers. You call out to it "Heyyyyy!". It stops. Turns around, looks at you with those little shiny eyes. Your brain grumbles that you don't have a camera, and it returns to wherever mongooses go on warm sunny afternoons.
You smile to yourself, the sun warming your shell, your blood warming you within.
This perhaps is what magical afternoons are made of.