For kensiblye - Christmas Eve Coffee
As he'd told her he would, Michael waited with immortal patience atop the building housing the Soup Kitchen on Christmas Eve. It was a good tradition, a noble one and he well understood the need for such kindness, particularly on such a night.
Unseen by the passersby and those going in and out, the archangel perched atop the vestibule and listened to the chatter within, automatically filtering the voices into different compartments as he'd always done. And then he heard her. To most, she sounded normal, even somewhat cheery, but to the divine ear, the tones of sorrow were almost overwhelming. It hurt his heart.
Earlier, he'd watched, forbidden to intervene, as she'd gone through her trials, had dealt with something close to her soul and emerged not unscathed, but triumphant, if bitterly so. But it was the way of things; they were to face their demons if they were to overcome them. He'd seen it over and over before. Some conquered, some fell. Thus was the price of free will.
Yet, he had to admit - at least to himself - he was glad that she had chosen to overcome. To stand before her past heartache and face it, not let it burrow its way back into her heart to fester. In a strange way, he was proud of her. And, surprising even himself, looking forward to seeing her again. But he would wait. She needed this time, this time to put things behind her, to settle back into a routine of normalcy. And giving; sharing with others was a soothing balm to a fractured spirit, he knew it well.
Thus he waited, patient, watching the glorious sunset from high above.
Unseen by the passersby and those going in and out, the archangel perched atop the vestibule and listened to the chatter within, automatically filtering the voices into different compartments as he'd always done. And then he heard her. To most, she sounded normal, even somewhat cheery, but to the divine ear, the tones of sorrow were almost overwhelming. It hurt his heart.
Earlier, he'd watched, forbidden to intervene, as she'd gone through her trials, had dealt with something close to her soul and emerged not unscathed, but triumphant, if bitterly so. But it was the way of things; they were to face their demons if they were to overcome them. He'd seen it over and over before. Some conquered, some fell. Thus was the price of free will.
Yet, he had to admit - at least to himself - he was glad that she had chosen to overcome. To stand before her past heartache and face it, not let it burrow its way back into her heart to fester. In a strange way, he was proud of her. And, surprising even himself, looking forward to seeing her again. But he would wait. She needed this time, this time to put things behind her, to settle back into a routine of normalcy. And giving; sharing with others was a soothing balm to a fractured spirit, he knew it well.
Thus he waited, patient, watching the glorious sunset from high above.