On Angels and Smoke-Filled Skies
Do you believe that there are angels, out there in the valley, visiting us here and there as we make our way through this year? Someone watching over us as we wade through the pool of depression and insecurity, a vast expanse of unknown laid bare at our feet. On the smoke clouds as they float by, you can see small wings if you squint, fluttering in the ashes, shifting mirror images of great beings meant to keep eyes on us. Do you believe there could be supernatural spaces where feeling and being come together, future past present, fate decided, life unfolding?
In the sky, there, I see them now, floating by in shades of off-white, robes of flowing fabric hoisting them from place to place. I have to believe that there is safety within the trees, amid the flames.
