Sitting. Waiting for an angel to walk in.
Anticipating a spirit to encounter in a coffee shop.
Holding out hope by investing in waiting.
Taking the time to linger while others rush past, ambling too fast.
Waiting for an angel sent to rest among us.
Has the force of spirit been delayed at a stoplight?
Are the winds pushing on the clouds to obscure the path?
Has the setting sun darkened the spirit’s way?
How will the angel, the messenger, be recognized?
Is there an angel on the sidewalk outside who stopped to tie his shoe?
I thought angels wore sandals.
Sitting, waiting for an angel.
Wondering if I leave will he enter?
And I won’t be waiting.
What then?
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><> 05/19/15 @Brew
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