Bitter wind was tugging at Adelaide’s hood and lashing her hair round her face. She was sitting in front of Lawrence on a grey warmblood. He was plunging through the deep drifts of snow at a great pace and smoothly passing over rifts and inclines of the land. Lawrence had both hands on the reigns while supporting Adelaide by his arms.  The saddle on which they sat was large and made of fine leather. It was black and simple but strongly made. Adelaide had both her feet secured to the stirrups by straps that Cosmas had attached.

    We were walking to the bus stop from the highschool together, my friend Rob and I,  like we usually did. He was my best friend. I think I was his too. I looked up at him curiously, and glanced back at the kids that were glowering after us. We had both been awarded 'Most Mature' at the awards ceremony in May, and took our schoolwork, friendships, jobs, and lives seriously. Too seriously, according to our classmates.

What is it like here? I'm glad you asked. It's really a lovely place, our home. I'll tell you all about it.

We have such beautiful life growing here. Trees and oceans and animals. We love to look at them while we rest inside our homes that we built for ourselves.

We're so very happy, because we work so hard at it. We all have the same job, pursuers of happiness. We know that it's just around the next bend in the road.

 The Last Lion of Aziza.

  Thank you, Ben, for creating ApricotPie.

  Thank you for letting me join.

  Thank you for editing the stuff that I submit.

  Thank you for publishing my posts for the world to see.

  Thank you for being so willing to do so much stuff here even though your own life is pretty busy!

  Thank you, Ben, for everything!

  I started writing when I was seven and a half, with very silly little stories in a composition notebook. One, the Mystery of the Missing Beehive, had a picture on one page and The End on the next page!

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One: Just out of reach.

For the affect I search, search wide search deep

So incomplete.

Perfect flaws, scars seep,

Just out of reach.

Black birds fly soar high,

Just out of reach.

For the feel I search, search wide search deep

So incomplete.

Anxiety stalls, stops quick,

Bravery just out of reach.

The life in need of saving

Just out of reach.

For the words I search, search wide search deep

So incomplete.

Cloudy days and muddled thoughts
Blend in time as big raindrops
Fall like sacred tears on dirty sidewalks

Umbrellas up and all around
Shelter those who never found
The beauty deep within the dripping water

Who is left untouched by pain?
Or never felt the hurt and shame
Like stone, remains; unchanged, unbroken?

The clouds will clear and life goes on
But sunshine never lasts for long
And rain returns to give and take away

A Note to the Reader:

Everyone has a companion Angel; a celestial being with whom their life and growth are intimately, inseparably entwined.  I’ve recently had the good-fortune to talk with my own Angel, and it is my pleasure to now present the reader with a few of the deeper insights I’ve gained through exploring our connection, and share a good many direct quotations from my Angelic counterpart.