I asked the angel if I should be reading
my Bible every day, if I’m to be disciplined
in eating the words of God and His authors.
I don’t know much about angels but my
gut told me the angel was miffed by my
question but nevertheless sang out
Is that what you’re in the mood to do?
I have learned this much about angels. They
sing every chance they get, even if miffed.
I answered the angel a bit of Bible goes a long
way with me, that I’d rather spend most of
my remaining time penning poems and
short stories and the occasional long essay
about everything from the slinky cat that naps
along the top of our back fence to the way my
nephews say Bye, Uncle John as they hug my
knees farewell when holidays are sadly over.
My gut told me the angel hovered lighter now,
unburdened of miff. The angel then began
to sing for the beauty of the earth and sky and
hours and the joys of human love. Suddenly
the same sky the angel sang of was split by a V
of geese honking a rather bluesy January tune.
I first thought their song swallowed the angel’s
but then I realized same song, different angels.
The LORD moodeth me to write of pastures green
and waters still, and mild and gentle thoughts.