Two wooden swings tied with ropes hang from the branches of an oak tree that stands upon a grassy knoll beneath skies warmed by an orange glow from the sunset just above the horizon of the ocean far in the distance past a seaside town and grand lighthouse You swing on one seat while I rock on the other and in this way we are here side by side together An old breeze helps to push us back and forth while she tickles the leaves above into a windchime harmony accompanied by a quartet of doves I want… to give you this gift of a simple idea to make you smile for even a moment away from all the storm clouds-- which you can pass along to others For while you read this scene quietly to yourself . . . the two of us will
I was flying high, my sky blue wings free from bruises or abrasions for the first time in many years. A laugh escaped my lips as I turned to face the man beside me. His black wings had a red lightening bolt etched down the center of each. And there, on his left wing, dead center was a tiny blue feather. The correct feather, blood red, sat in the middle of my own deep blue wing. We had swapped that day he stole his wings back with a kiss. There was a rumbling off to my left, forewarning, a bad omen. I swooped away, he followed. We played for a while, and then the storm was upon me. Lightening and thunder crashing everywhere, I reached for him.