The Girl Wizard and Box Privet
(A Hot Air Balloon Tale)
In a basket woven tight with care,
Two cousins floated through the air.
A girl with stars upon her hat,
And Box Privet—nervous, pale, and flat.
The wizard girl, with wand in hand,
Declared, “We’re off to Magic Land!
The winds obey my every spell—
So hold on tight, and all is well!”
But Box, with hair all spiked with fear,
Grumbled low, “We shouldn’t be here.
This flying bin’s a deathtrap, see?
We’re miles above the nearest tree!”
She grinned and tapped the breeze with flair,
And candy floss grew in the air.
She summoned clouds like marshmallow puffs,
While Box just huffed and called her bluff.
“You conjure sweets, but not a map!
We’ll crash! We’ll fall! We’ll take a nap—
That never ends, six feet below!”
(He often voiced his dread quite so.)
The wizard chuckled, calm and light:
“You fret too much, oh Boxy Sprite.
We’ve got the skies, the wind, the view—
And magic pants that stick like glue.”
Box checked his seat, then checked again,
His knuckles white with rising strain.
“I’d rather sit,” he said with gloom,
“In Auntie Edna’s drawing room.”
But just then came a flock of geese,
Who honked a song of joyful peace.
And Box, despite his mounting dread,
Lifted his chin and scratched his head.
Perhaps, he thought, this isn’t dire—
The sky is blue, the clouds inspire…
And though he’d never say it loud,
He felt a little oddly… proud.
So onward sailed the wizard girl,
Her cousin clutching for dear world.
One cast spells, the other fear—
But both were bold to journey here.
For courage isn’t magic tricks,
Or flaming orbs and pointy sticks—
It’s rising up when nerves say “no,”
And riding high where dreamers go.
The Crazymad Writer Writes Again 