Under the grid of glass sky, angels perch on black beams like forgotten birds, wings half-spread, faces soft and childlike, gazing down at the hurry of coats and briefcases below. They don't flap or sing; they simply sit, balanced on steel, as if waiting for rain to drip through the panes or for someone to look up long enough to notice. The dome beyond the roof looms like an old promise, rounded and stone-heavy, while these little guardians float in between...neither fully in the sacred past nor the rushing now.
A woman pauses mid-stride, coffee in hand, tilts her head. The angel above her seems to lean a fraction closer, or maybe it's just the light shifting. Strangers are angels unaware, the old verse whispers in her mind...maybe the barista who smiled too kindly this morning, the man who held the door without a word, or these silent watchers overhead who never ask for thanks. What if every passerby carries hidden wings, folded tight against the daily grind? What if the prompt isn't to write something safe, but to look up, to entertain the possibility that grace is already hovering, perched on beams we barely see, waiting for us to notice and be silly enough to wave back?
The timer dings. The angels stay put. But the sky through the glass feels a little less gray.
“The story is that they were flying by. One was tired and spotted a piece of wood. He placed it on the netting for security reasons. He liked it so much he decided to stay. Every so often another visits and ends up staying.”
Mabel looked at Joan shocked. “That’s the best you could do? Here’s one for you.” With that Pat took a sip of water and began. “One day I was sitting out here reading a book when one Cherub dropped by. He got caught up in the netting so I gave him a board to sit on. He liked it so much he invited others and they made it their home.”
“Seriously?” stated Betty. “That’s it?” She shook her head. “One day they were buzzing around killing time. They buzzed over the medical centre looking for advice. They had Cherubism and needed our help. Since then they have lived here because we can offer them cures for their ailments.”
"Hmmph,"Charlotte snorted. “They were transporting God’s Throne when they got tired and deposited over there,” she said pointing to an old decrepit chair, “where it became suitably entangled in the wire. They tugged and heaved until they tired. They can’t go anywhere until they free the throne so now they sit and wait until a solution comes to them.
After all the descriptive stories the Cherubs flew off in a huff. “Human’s,” they opined, “can never get the story straight.”
The Sight of Angels
Angels have been sighted lately
Did they put up a net to catch
A few who were caught so greatly,
Has Heaven become unlatched ?
Strange appearances all over
These are metallic, I realize
But true apparitions hover
In JERUSALEM 's blue skies
Cherubs sit and look so cute
Do they really look like that ?
Of course they are all mute
They remain where they sat
True angels are more like men
They do have wings for moving
They speak to men and say " Amen "!
"God is with us" is so soothing.
Is it the end of the age,
Will Jesus return soon ?
We'll keep turning the page
And count each month's blood moon !
Thank you , Writer Pilgrim !
Thank you Scott !
Thank you , David !
Thank you , Marpy !
Stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.
Well, you are just a denier. Angel hater. What’s wrong with you?
I have nothing against angels whatsoever. I’m not even alleging they don’t exist.
Then what’s your gripe? To a playful display of our airborne guardians.
Im chapped by how this exemplifies the weakening of our national fiber. The erosion of any vestige of a can-do attitude.
Do share.
Why in hell would a winged creature ever need a swing? Too lazy to hover?
Under the grid of glass sky, angels perch on black beams like forgotten birds, wings half-spread, faces soft and childlike, gazing down at the hurry of coats and briefcases below. They don't flap or sing; they simply sit, balanced on steel, as if waiting for rain to drip through the panes or for someone to look up long enough to notice. The dome beyond the roof looms like an old promise, rounded and stone-heavy, while these little guardians float in between...neither fully in the sacred past nor the rushing now.
A woman pauses mid-stride, coffee in hand, tilts her head. The angel above her seems to lean a fraction closer, or maybe it's just the light shifting. Strangers are angels unaware, the old verse whispers in her mind...maybe the barista who smiled too kindly this morning, the man who held the door without a word, or these silent watchers overhead who never ask for thanks. What if every passerby carries hidden wings, folded tight against the daily grind? What if the prompt isn't to write something safe, but to look up, to entertain the possibility that grace is already hovering, perched on beams we barely see, waiting for us to notice and be silly enough to wave back?
The timer dings. The angels stay put. But the sky through the glass feels a little less gray.
And The Winning Story Is
“The story is that they were flying by. One was tired and spotted a piece of wood. He placed it on the netting for security reasons. He liked it so much he decided to stay. Every so often another visits and ends up staying.”
Mabel looked at Joan shocked. “That’s the best you could do? Here’s one for you.” With that Pat took a sip of water and began. “One day I was sitting out here reading a book when one Cherub dropped by. He got caught up in the netting so I gave him a board to sit on. He liked it so much he invited others and they made it their home.”
“Seriously?” stated Betty. “That’s it?” She shook her head. “One day they were buzzing around killing time. They buzzed over the medical centre looking for advice. They had Cherubism and needed our help. Since then they have lived here because we can offer them cures for their ailments.”
"Hmmph,"Charlotte snorted. “They were transporting God’s Throne when they got tired and deposited over there,” she said pointing to an old decrepit chair, “where it became suitably entangled in the wire. They tugged and heaved until they tired. They can’t go anywhere until they free the throne so now they sit and wait until a solution comes to them.
After all the descriptive stories the Cherubs flew off in a huff. “Human’s,” they opined, “can never get the story straight.”