She had a special place in her heart for angels. She sat bolt upright in the chair, her palms resting on the cool plastic-topped table. Her hands were steady, even though her knees trembled. She breathed slow and even...and thought of angels. She moved the palms of her hands away from the coolness of the table, and placing her elbows squarely, she cupped hands in comfort and in supplication. She had an angel, she had the constant breeze from old leather wings, they fanned her body, as they fanned her conscience. She stared intently at her cupped hands, as if for the first time. Her eyes seemed puzzled...lost. She quickly shook her head and placed her hands against her chest. She listened and felt her heart beat, the comfort of rhythm, the comfort of connection. Her angel soars, her angel cracks thunder through ether across landscapes of dust and ash. She smiled in knowledge and comfort as her heart missed a beat, one beat borrowed, one beat leant. She had a special place in her heart for angels.