Along time ago, in a quiet meadow, there were stars overhead. No one knew how they got there, they were just bright - hot, spots in the night sky. It was something to see, it provided a kind of stillness. They held their place; they hung in the dark velvet of the night. Once in a while there would be a movement, like an arc with one of those bright lights, that was a shooting star.
Amazingly, as time had worn itself out, like an old shoe, other lights filled the skys. Some were man made, satellites and orbiting craft, some were probably not of this earth, maybe even alien in their way. While over the cities the sky was not as dark, because of all the artificial light, there was still a beauty in the stars.
In the fragrant meadow, where night dews set a liquid to the stretch of flowering plants, there was a return, a stillness coming from the long ago. This night like no others, held a kind of brightness and within the confines of darkness, there was light.
You would not expect to see it, you might feel afraid, but instead of fear coming up your throat, calm slid down and settled on your heart. It was a bright clean light there before the line of trees, sandwiched in unmistakable, a guiding kind of light. To what, to whom and why now?
Another time in a cool dark fall, a snow had come early. It sprinkled down like bits of white wool, or drops of foamy milk. There was so much of it, the sky was no longer a black blue, but a grey white. Then it stopped and still there was the light. The light.
Many late springs, warm summers and brisk falls she spent in that field, wondering. How is this to be? Brightness tonight? No explanation? Just being aware, the night opened its arms and spilled something out onto the earth.
She never knew, but only appreciated the beautiful silver white of slivers and circles in the sky, hung by various invisible hands over her dark night. She did not know they were angels. Watching us, everyone, ascending and descending to complete their missions, sometimes in this very field. Arcing gracefully in the sky trying to quickly reach a matter which needed their intervention.
She did not know until she was one of them.
Copyright 2010 by SheilaTGTG55 Images used with permission.
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AJCalhoun
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Michelle Coulter
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Comments
Rated with tears and hugs
a lovely gift befitting the season, thank you
I wonder why sell Ya front yard?
But. this notion use to me norm.
Messenger mean 'angelos' inside.
Some folk lay in snow and fluff arms and feet. Then Ya can make snow angels. Politicos love devil food cake, and make snow devils.
I love Angel Food Cake people and steer clear of bore hog sales pitches.
Lookin' into the older literature about 'winged-beings' and immaterial presences won't harm people interior search. Yes. Angels unaware.
Homer mentions`
She spoke gently`
her 'winged-words'
Vanessa: Angels are so mysterious and as I age more real.
Matt: Your words melt my heart with happiness that you could find the spirit!
Art: So beautiful Art, thank you for gracing my post today and always.
Christine: Yes, angels all around.
Rosy: The picture was one of several and originally it was hanging in an ornate black frame on the front window of a shop in Houston. She hopes to get to New York with the designer who styled this. Some of the wings were so heavy they had poles holding them in place and that was air brushed out.
l'Heure: Thank you for stopping and holiday blessings of peace and love to you.
R
Bonnie: Thank you for visiting!
Linnnn: My house is full of fairies and oddly when I was doing a presentation about Celtic design to a bunch a kids some years ago, I also taught them about fairies. Isn't that a coincidence! I am not Irish, perhaps in another life. Anyway, thank you for stopping.