The Angels Who Saved Christmas

For Olivia and Maia, two very special angels, in this world of many~

The Angels Who Saved Christmas

“Even in this cold December sky, I know you are the center of my life, and all that could mean”

The sun slowly setting upon the swept horizon, cast a pink bloss blushing the skirted leafless wood of noir stenciled trees surrounding the nestled, cobblestone town of Capella glowing rose-gold, this December eve.

Light reflecting through the square washed upon the steps like exalted bright coral reaching the boughs of a bright, big evergreen adorned with glittering ornaments and wrapped strands of Christmas lights that twinkled every year like brilliant stars, reflecting into a calm pond where swans flutter and sail gracefully, like cradled white boats upon the ocean.

By this bight, big evergreen, Blassy cradled herself, pawn ducked upon the edge of the lake, hugging her knees close to her heart.

And holding reflective thoughts lapping like the waves in rock upon the winter sand in the silhouette of softened mountains less defined by watermark, the remembering of blessed trails, woven and washed by time, swayed a current in her heart, memories pouring precious and forever.

Last December, she had made an angel in the snow, and with a smile, he had asked her, “What are your dreams?” She smiled too, under stars, under understanding and said, “That we may sip eggnog on a snowy porch, and lay in a dry fountain talking about the ocean, and point to double rainbows over a house, and love still pictures caught in motion!”

She giggled thinking of earlier the day long, when they had shared a cup of eggnog,

the autumn before, when they sipped strawberry daiquiri’s laying side by side in the town square fountain that had been turned off for the change in season,

the sunlit day the summer before, when they found two rainbows arcing over the house across the street,

and when they first met, laughing at the pictures they took of one another dancing.

Across the winterscape, he exclaimed to her in response, “I’ve seen your dreams, my dreams too! I believe in you.”

Later into this evening, with a cutsie promenade, she had skipped into the kitchen to see him smiling and patiently waiting for her in an antique gold wooden chair upholstered with stardust cinnamon suede by the Christmas tree holding strands of threaded pearls, bubbles of morning dew powdered ornaments, and tinsel.

She spun in a simple circle, sacheting her velvet, bluebell ball gown asking him to turn her silken pink sash into a bow, telling him all about how one ties a ribbon.

She remembered how this evening she had sprinkled lightly, marigold sugar confetti, holding her delicate hand high above the tiered almond cake, watching in wonder, the decorative, candytuft gem shower upon chanterelle frosting, as he serenaded the words to her, “…A shining star upon the highest bough, and have yourself a merry little Christmas, now.”

And she looked up at him, “Wanna hear the sound of magic?” whimsically and movingly she spoke in a soft manner, “Just listen.” And with her eyes intently careful upon the cake, she kept sprinkling lightly as she had just before, “See?”

“So you must be the cake fairy!” he lightly joked with a loving undertone. Then he said to her, “You really are a snow angel.”

She glanced up, to find an assurance in his eyes, as he reached out his hand, she gingerly rested her palm upon his, and as if beginning a new conversation, breathlessly she said, “I love you.”

How she missed him, since he had just recently moved to Camelot. Blassy tried to be brave, holding onto the words he said to her as he was leaving, “There will be a silver lining, in the clouds.”

But she still felt a sadness this eve, surrounded by sapphire hills and pines. And looking up, she cried one tear into the palm of her hand.

Then as if a miracle, one snowflake in a dizzy may of calm, fell too into the palm of her hand upon her teardrop.

And she remembered a song from when she was a little girl. One she wished to sing to him.

Her voice began to resonate in sweet harmonic, the kindest melody, “As the moon kindles the night, as the wind kindles the fire, as the rain fills every ocean”.

Lifting her palm to the sky, she stopped singing for a moment as the depths of her heart whispered softly, like a conch shell holds the sound of a shore, familiar and mild, “and the sun, the earth”.

She rested her eyes, lovely, upon her palm, and cupping the snowflake tear, to her heart, she quietly sang, “With your heart, kindle my heart,”

And raising her eyes to the heavens, she began to dance, spinning with her arms outstretched to the world, “And take my heart, and take my heart, kindle it with your heart”.

Sweeping her palms up to the great sky, “And my heart, cannot be, kindled without you, with your heart, kindle my heart”.

Bowing forward, she rested her dance by the great lowest spruce brush of the ancient tree.

And said, “I believe in you too.”

Closing her sparking dandelion eyes, her lashes sunset bowing to cheeks, fluttering like her heart forward beating,

she listened to the wind spilling in lells of scrolls, upon hillsides swooping and endlessly returning from slopes of knolls, cursive as calligraphy and loops of lace.

She heard wind chimes shimmering lightly as wishes, in this cascading breath of whirlwind,

that whooshed to a hush.

And yet, the sound of delicate clinking glass,

carried through the sterling artic air like still stars of music.

And as blessing glades of splendid light shined radiance of a balm bloss glow upon her alpen nose,

She rose her eyes, to see two angels standing before her, belled and benevolently harp stranded in praise.

Everything about them was beautiful—their bright faces smiling in warmth and cocoa suede dusk hands in prayer hovering like the cashmere aura glowing from their sunbeam honey halos,

Their lavender, leeward long dresses of love and light, their white, whiffle evensong wings snow hushed in arc, glittering with peace lilies from the mountain of clouds like the color of the sugar moon.

One of them spoke, “ I am Olivia, angel of the water dance, a gentle gem. I give to you this crystal star from my sash. Hold this dear, and with a sigh, ray this up to the sky”.

Blassy now holding the star, lofted the translucent stone, into the evening sky, painted with constellations, and as she did, it began to flurry.

Another sweet voice spoke, “I am Maia, angel of the meadow harmony, a perfect noel, a songbird. I give to you from radiant sash, a silver dove. Hold this dear, and with a sigh, ray this up to the sky”.

The silver dove coo-ed in Blassy’s hand, snuggling into her palm, “Fly, sweet bird”, she whispered in awe, and low and behold, into the sky, swept this bird, singing a lullaby, and with this song, the snow ever white, turned silver, under these wings of flight.

Some say there must be moonlight to turn snowflakes silver, and some say there must be clouds for snow to billow on a crystal clear night.

Blassy believes it is the silver wings of the dove who turns the snow to the color of the moon, and it is the crystal star who brings to her palm, every snowflake, and the many softly falling upon the world like petals of peace lilies from the mountain of clouds feathered upon the wings of angels.


“I will always keep you in my heart, we can be together and apart, it’s all just a dream”