A stranger to the world and to the flesh, the divine angel descended from above on New Year’s Eve, folding his wings in order to conceal them. He bore gifts from the upper realms to give to the inhabitants of the capital: the star designed to shine in their consciences, the breeze able to refresh their souls, and the life created to pulsate in their hearts. He was the good angel of the city.
But when the angel found no solace among us and returned to the heavenly vaults, something remained nonetheless from his passing: the sudden memory from the light’s glare, secret signs from his footprints where he walked in the world. Sometimes from his touch we still feel a sense of wings on our shoulders. We escape to higher places. We long for something better.
From: The Winged Gifts by Alexandros Papdiamantis.
