Even More Precious Now

     Since our move a couple of years ago, this petite garden angel had been lingering in the darkness, on a shelf in the garage. Its small scale meant it would have been lost in our landscape here, so it had been stored away.

     It had suffered an accident at our previous home, becoming separated from its base, as well as breaking both legs and both wings. Normally, my nature would have dictated tossing something so broken, but I really cherished the sense of contentment and tranquility it exuded, so I had carefully glued all the pieces back together and brought it with us.

     Last week, while moving some supplies into my newly finished backyard studio, I was searching for a door stop. When I uncovered this angel, I took it out and realized it would be a perfect fit. It has found a new home, nestled in the corner of my studio, facing the greenery beyond the glass door. Despite its cracked foundation, damaged wings, and broken limbs, this cherubic figure is still beautiful, still valuable, and feels even more precious to me now.

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Mountain Angel

The wide open Powerline trail along the base of Grouse Mountain is a favourite of mine.  While walking in the sunshine with my husband there this morning, I made a startling connection.  Last Sunday morning, he and I had walked along this same popular trail.  That day, we had ventured a little further than usual, and then, my husband suggested we return to the car via a narrow, less travelled route through the forest, one we had never taken.  Since we were without any safety provisions, I replied I wasn't interested in taking the chance of getting lost without any gear.  I then announced, "That's all we need is for Tim Jones to have to come and find us." Tim Jones, North Shore Search and Rescue leader, as well as high school classmate of ours.  Well, we turned around and headed back along the main trail.  Later, we found out that Tim had died that evening while walking down the trail of a neighbouring mountain.  Within hours of me pronouncing those words, ones I had never before spoken, Tim, a hero in the truest sense of the word, was gone.  Uncanny.  RIP Tim, our mountain angel.

Angelic Art

With my granddaughter happily seated in her stroller, the two of us headed out to explore the neighbourhood yesterday morning.  We shared a muffin at a café, stopped at the library, chatted with shopkeepers, and played at the park.  We then returned to my home for lunch, after which, it was time for her nap.  I knew she was tired but instead of resting, she cried in bed for quite some time.  I finally went in, picked her up, and took her into my living room so that we could quietly cuddle together.  We settled into an easy chair and observed the backyard scene of birds and squirrels going about their day.  Within minutes, she was sound asleep.  
She would need at least half an hour, if not longer, to refresh herself for the second half of her day so I decided I would remain seated for as long as she needed, holding her comfortably on my lap.  Since there were no distractions within reach, I embraced the opportunity to just be.  Taking in the perfection of this little being, breathing in her essence, feeling our hearts beat together, I was well aware of how precious this time was.  The sun streaming through the glass wall behind us served to heighten the experience, warming us both, and casting a glow on her fine, blond curls.  
While marvelling at the beauty surrounding me, I noticed a bright, colourful spot on the end of one of her strands of hair.  I gently ran my fingers along it, thinking perhaps I would find a loose thread or a fleck of who knew what.  After repeated attempts to remove it, the spot remained.  Perplexed, I picked up my reading glasses and found myself staring at a magnificent image rivalling the splendour of stained glass windows found in grand cathedrals.  Right at the tip of this strand of hair was a round, highly detailed, miniature work of art -  as if an angel, using the finest tools, had drawn intricate lines of design within design, then filled in the spaces with jewel tones.  There were tiny circles, triangles, and squares, overlapping in places, embellished with various designs and patterns.  The vision before me defied explanation but nevertheless, there it was.  I did not need to know how or why in order to treasure the magic of this moment.  Forty minutes later my granddaughter awoke with a smile on her face - she had had a much needed nap, and I had been blessed with another exquisite experience.

An Angel Answers

A few weeks after my mother died, I was resting on a stone beside the creek near my home, thinking about her and asking for a sign so that we would know she was with us as we were celebrating my daughter's graduation later that day.  When I met up with my daughter a couple of hours later, she related an incident which had occurred to her at exactly the same time that my request was being made to my mother.  She had been walking along the sea wall path and in contrast to previous outings, had decided not to listen to music en route.  Suddenly, a tinkling sound caught her attention and when she turned around to investigate, she realized that the tiny pewter angel ornament which had been her Oma's, had fallen off her key chain and now lay upon the pavement!  Had she been plugged in to her tunes, that precious moment would have gone unnoticed.  Upon her return home, she handed me the angel, and it is safely nestled in my jewellery box as a constant reminder that angels are listening, and if we are available, we will hear the answers.