The package came on a dreary, sleety Saturday.
Underneath layers of brown paper held in place by miles of environmentally-friendly twine was a small box.
I took the lid off. Nestled inside was a tiny pink angel carved from rhondochrosite. Curiouser and curiouser.
I call her my guardian angel in pink. She sits on a shelf in my workspace.
I had tettered and swayed at the edge of the abyss. All seemed darkness and futility. I’d lost my spirit, my spark.
Then the tiny pink angel arrived.
What was dark is now bright. Flowers in glass bottle vases. Stained glass window prism-shadows form patterns on the floor. I dance to invisible music. She is my creativity; her image in my art, poems, and stories.
Whoever sent the tiny pink angel to me, probably saved my life. Thank you.
I know someone who is really hurting. Would you mind if I anonymously mailed the guardian angel in pink to her?
Written for the first Sunday Photo Fiction of 2015.