“The best and most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even touched, but must be felt with the heart.” ~Helen Keller
Let me tell YOU of the sweet whisperings of April days where quiet within all of a sudden I hear the faint rush of silken angel wings fly me by, whoosh! They came and come often still and sit on my shoulders, or teeter at the edge of my mind, or sometimes stand amused jolly in my corner of colors.
I know they are there, here - when I feel laughter coming in- when I hear the church bells chiming - when I smell flowers from nowhere- the unprovoked smile of a random someone...the dulcet chirp of green birdie balancing on my gate. Even smack right inside this big bulk of vanilla gratitude I carry right now, oh yes, they be here, the April angels.
We beings earthbound barter and trade potions for the promise of pretty, youth and longevity - but angelics come to soothe soured soul's withered lines, deepened scars, and calloused hearts with a swipe from The Balm of Gilead whose restoration plummets deep into dermis abyss, and we are whole again - born to new. This is what happens. This is what's true.
So in my good, in my bad, in my gain and in my pain, in my breath and in -within - the - pockets - of - air that cut between the gaps of my entire somatic being, they flutter - they exist - they be.
Breathing me faith, the angels of April, resurrect me, again. And life has color.
