Two Angels

"Twinkle, twinkle little star..."

"Bright heavens child, stop singing that song, I'm trying to work." I glared at the child, perched on the edge of the sky counting the stars bellow.

"Momma always told me angels have no work." She smiled up at me sweetly, as only a child can.

I shook my head at the misconceptions of humans. "Child, all beings work. An angel doesn't seem to work because generally she enjoys work, which makes it more play than work. What, pray, would we do with our time if we had nothing else to do?"

She turned her face down to the starts again. "Why, sing!" She, indeed, did sing her words.

"And what when all songs have been sung?"

"We dance!" She stood and spun, picking the nearest, brightest flower. One I had just planted.

I shook my head. The children were so innocent, so pure. They had nothing to spoil them, nothing to change them. Their souls had not experienced the winter of adulthood. A grin creeped across my face. "And what when all the dances have been danced?"

She looked up at me with earnest. "We play, we laugh, we cry, we enjoy what's before us."

"And what when all the games have been played, all the laughter laughed, all the tears cried, all to be seen and done enjoyed? What do we do then?" I could feel my inner self, my inner soul, dancing, as so often this child made me do.

"We start it over and find the new in the old." She winked at me.

I keep forgetting souls are older than they appear.