Head lowered, halo askew, wings lopsided, paint chipped, Angelica, my Garden Angel, is getting old. The star on her breast, plucked from Heaven, is showing signs of rust. Her weathered-wood body has a forward lean. Yet she presides as always, an aging but ageless beauty among the flowers. Somehow, she becomes dearer to me every year.
During the month of July, I'm joining with other writers from around the World in
oh, sweet angel... still on duty.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful piece! I really enjoy your perspective here and the act of taking time to admire and observe something closely. :) Angels are my favorite.
ReplyDeleteThanks so much for your comment on my blog post today, My Writing Space.
Sounds like a mother's love -- neverending... :)
ReplyDeleteI like that she is old and rusting, yet that makes her even dearer to you :)
ReplyDeleteShe looks extremely precious, Barb. I can empathize with you....
ReplyDeleteI can understand why she is dear to you.
ReplyDeleteBut she looks so sad...
I feel so out of touch with you! your "A River of Stones" is so beautiful. I had no idea you started this...I am so glad I caught up today....sigh..
ReplyDeleteSo precious and dear ... even as we age!
ReplyDeleteShe looks just plain worn out. Being an angel is hard work.
ReplyDeleteShe is precious, indeed. With every passing year, some things seem to get more and more dear. Thank you for sharing her with us, Barb.
ReplyDeleteI like your Angel!
ReplyDelete