A descent for the purpose of an ascent.
-attributed to the Frierkiker Rebbe
“Get up. What do you think you’re doing?” Michael Taylor rushed into the tiny clearing in the forest hoping he’d avoided the men chasing him. “The world is going to Hell in a hand basket, and you’re sitting there clutching your head like you’re coming off of the two-day drunk.”
He skidded to a halt, not knowing how the angel would react to his impulsive words. She took her hand away from her face and looked up at the middle-aged father of four. “If it were only that simple.”
“A woman? I thought all angels were men. In my visions, you were…I mean, in the Bible…”
“The translation from my realm to yours is a difficult one to explain, Michael, and what you call visions were my attempt to communicate across the chasm between our realities.”
“But you are an angel, right? I mean, I really want you to be an angel.”
“I am whatever you need me to be.”