A host on the wing, in formation, blazing across the sky. Too bright to see directly we instead stare down. Down into the crema on the surface of a freshly poured espresso. Cream colored, swirling in patterns that change and reflect and hint at the host gliding overhead, outshining the sun.
We look up again. It can’t be helped. Watching the collaged patterns of angels’ wings, bright against the clear blue of a cerulean sky. ‘It helps if you close your eyes,’ she says to me. And we do. Close our eyes, knock back our espresso, and smile as the shadows between wingtips caress our eyelids. The inverse of sunlight and shadow.
This is where we reside. On the knife edge between light and darkness. We hover here a while, content to balance, feeling the infinite shades of grey. Shadows within shadows, light within light.
And the Seraphim continue their flight, chasing the sun from the sky, forcing back the encroaching night.