Angels in the glooming

I move through the morass of each day, sometimes seeing such shining joy, often missing it as it passes.  The occasional call from afar; listening to someone dear to me talk about his day.  Up the stairs, down the stairs, out to the car; the rain providing a grey backdrop to my thoughts.  Slide the car to the curb.  Haul out the pocketbook, the computer bag, the little plastic bag of food.  Bones remain to be cracked, muscles to stretch, blood to be encouraged in  its course through my veins.  The aging process asserts itself.  I never expected to live this long or feel this weary with so much yet to be done.  And then I happen to glance over at a shelf in my office, this early morning, when no one makes a sound outside my door.  I see an angel given to me by someone who inexplicably professes to believe in me.  The angel sits next to a little plaque from my sister which declares me to be a treasure.  I am lost in the glooming but ahead I see a candle, or maybe a star; and I move towards it.

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