I dried a rose from my favorite curmudgeon’s internment.  I clipped it upside down on the wire of a piece of stained glass which hangs in the kitchen window.  Today, I took it from its place and examined it, perfectly formed,  lovely.  I put it in the vase with the roses which I had dried from the posy that Paula Kenyon-Vogt gave me.  I noticed that the angel which stands beside that vase has turned, to face a bit more eastward.  While there is another adult living in this house at present, I doubt that she adjusted the items on the window sill.  I’ll ask her, of course, but I expect raised eyebrows and a slight knowing smile with the shake of her head.  We both believe in signs.  And this sign brings me no fright.  The doings of angels can never be harmful.

Here is how the angel on my window sill looks this evening.

And here is how the angel looked a few days ago. I did not move her.