Angel in the Garden. I dig the harp, I could hear it play celestial notes. I like the flowers. Angels should play harps and sit on roses. Almost earth angel, but not quite, a good thing. I like the roses are made of stone, everlasting and never wilting and yet we can see the Fall colors, late Autumn. Something is always fleeting about Autumn. You can imagine the lushness of Summer, the insects and birds who keep this Angel company. Memories are like dreams, only in your head. I love you, Angel, forever in this Garden, playing the Harp even for those who cannot see you.
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