RAINFALL IN THE CITY OF ANGELS

           

"Only the sea still keeps the love you didn't want. Being closer to her, I am closer to you without you knowing it. Only she still speaks the same language with you, the language I had learned so to be closer to the sea and to your soul. Now only the songs are left, only the songs still tell the words you will never tell me again. I once was a goddess you worshiped in the temple of love and I ended up in the goddesses' destiny, imprisoned in a piece of marble."

So was the statue sighing on the rock next to the sea. Nobody knew what goddess she represented, neither did they know who had built her there or when. They had discovered her one morning standing there, sparkling white as if she had grown from the rock during the night. The old people in the small fishing village worshiped her thinking the gods many have sent her there to protect them from evil.

Sometimes when the wind was blowing from the sea, whispers could be heard coming from the rock. But no matter how carefully they listened, people could not get even one word from the unclear murmurs. Only the statue alone knew her weeping and sorrow.

One dark, stormy night an angel landed on the rock attracted by the white light of the statue. He curled himself at her feet waiting for the dawn to come so that he could fly again. But the merciless waves beat furiously against the rock, burdening the angel's wings with salt.

In the morning, the people who found the crashed statue on the rock were wondering where the white shining feathers, laying amidst the rubble could have come from. They were too big to be seagull feathers and their white color was shining in the sun like silver.

"Maybe an angel..." a child started shyly, when a hoarse voice interrupted him harshly.

"Nonsense! Angels do not exist!"

The child shut up and the grown ups never found out the truth. Only the child knew that, when an angel falls on the earth, it rains from the city of angels, feathers of snow and silver, to show the way back to those still able to fly or to cry over the passed away ones.

 

© Copyright reserved
No part(s) of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, transcribed, stored in a retrieval system, or translated into any language in any form by any means without the written permission of the author.

Romanian version

scoicahome.jpg (3321 bytes)

E-mail me

DISCLAIMER
The graphic used on this page has been found on the net (possibly offered for free download) without a © note attached. Should it be yours or should you know the author please e-mail me to let me know so I could either give proper credit or remove the graphic if the creator so desires. Thanks.

Page backgrounds © Lonely Shell