Friday, 15 September 2017

The Healing Angel in Blue Dungarees.

the festival/August

I want to get this down before I forget.

Are you sure? It wasn’t great.

I need to remember some of it; some of it was beautiful.

Beauty in pain; you are speaking of her aren’t you?

An angel.

You’re biased.

Maybe, but she came on her bike, she didn’t need to; in fact I had told others not to say I was there.

Where were you?

On the ground looking up at the tree.

So you saw her face first of all.

Her smile. I felt better almost at once. She put her bike against the railings and sat down beside me.

On the pavement? By the traffic lights?

I hadn’t been able to cross; it was a frontier too far. The police dog barked and the handler stared at me, but said nothing.

How long had you been there.

Thirty minutes, an hour… it matters not.

What did she do?

Talked. About the day, about dance, about the tree. She healed me.

The healing angel.


In blue dungarees.

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