The Old Woman and the Angel

    She looked up and saw the wheel of the sky revolving above her snow-white head; Jacob’s angels climbing and descending their celestial ladder. She saw curtains of red, green, gold and pink flicker in a sensual dance across the firmament, streaked by the light of shooting stars. 

    “The heavens are telling the glory of God,” she murmured to no one in particular. One of Jacob’s angels detached itself from the starry rungs and appeared beside her, its hand on hers. 

    “Come with us,” it urged. “Join in the cosmic dance. Lift your voice and praise the Lord.” 

     “But I don’t believe in God,” protested the old woman. “I don’t believe in praising what I don’t believe in.” 

     The angel smiled indulgently. “What do you believe in?” it asked, wrapping a wing around her frail shoulders to warm her against the cool night air. 

     “I believe in love,” she said simply. “I know the rapture of love that fills your soul to overflowing; and I know the depths of despair when love is gone, leaving only the empty abyss of loss. Yet, it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.” 

     The angel was silent for a long moment before speaking, “I know love, for I love the Lord. But I do not know this sorrow of which you speak.” 

     “I hope you never do,” the old woman said quietly. “Now get back to work. Your fellow angels are feeling your absence in the conga line.” 

     The angel kissed her wrinkled cheek and rejoined the ladder. She stared after it one last time, filling her eyes with stars, then closed them and sank into darkness.