Tuesday, February 28, 2006


They came near me, the angels, but did not speak, did not sing, they did not bless me, they simply passed by, walking reverently, heads bowed, hands folded perhaps in prayer, they walked on, then took flight like swallows, darting in all directions but with a purpose, toward that one cloud on the right, near the mountain, as the sun was setting, dazzling the sky with its new colors, purple and orange, and the fields must have seen them too for the landscape shifted, altered itself I cannot say how, but seemed more alive, more present, more vibrant, enriched, deep in the wealth of absolute being as only landscapes can be and they sang as they flew in an unknown algorithm, their strange harmonies shimmering like the lapping of water against a boat. I raised my hand to shield my eyes from this painting of glorious earth but its brilliance stunned me and my eyes drew every particle of light and shade and dark into me, recorded every movement of every leaf, branch and blade of grass, dark diamonds sparkling on the lake, the sky a kaleidoscope not just of colors but of patterns which the angels seemed to form, I swear they were dancing, creating new forms like lace, weaving the substance of the clouds to their manipulations, they braided the clouds into garlands that attended the sun like ladies in waiting, surrounding the sun, lowering with it, slowly, so slowly, they encircled it like a diadem and then both sun and angels descended beyond the horizon.

D. Thierry


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