Nella Freund

Angels fly free

There are angels when I write and my mind gets to release all the words that sit in my brain, remaining unspoken because sometimes my throat sticks and a barrier blocks the words that try to nudge my larynx into action; but the angels come with their bright light inspiration and set the sentences free as I write them on the page or type them on the computer, while the angels perch on my shoulders, grooming their wings and kicking their legs against my collarbone, helping release the images that flutter in the prison of my mind haunting my thoughts, making me feel mad with not knowing what to do with my life other than let the angels in, even though sometimes I get all sensible and pooh-pooh them as silly mystical creatures that can’t be ticked or filed in my study, but with them, my study becomes a sacred writing space in another realm on the other side of my mind in those wide plains where words roam as free as wild horses on a sun-filled beach as they gallop with reckless abandon, angels on horseback, their wings urging their steeds on, the wind bending their haloes backwards, hair flying free, smiling sunbeams of joy.

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