There are days when angels can be found in unexpected places. We would expect to see them basking in beams of sunlight, cavorting beneath blue skies, not clinging to the sides of buildings, draped like black cloth in shadow light.
Sometimes the weariness of the world descends, clinging to hair, clothes and skin like wet leaves and it is natural to retreat under cherry trees or the farthest corner of the verandah where the dimness droops.
It is comforting to sit in the cool where our eyes are not strained by the heat, where bands of ash slant across our fingers, where stone grows rich as amber.
The faces are there. Those who seek to guide us. If you listen very carefully you can hear the rustling of their wings, such a delicate sound it could be mistaken for trees flexing their leaves in the wind.
The shadow light offers solace without being asked. It covers our skin with such gentleness. Airborne, suspended, yet resting. And for the briefest of moments we sit, dreaming of different days, enfolded in the arms of an angel.
[Image by cichutko at Deviant Art.]Inspired by the Carry On Tuesday prompt in the arms of an angel.