My beautiful little angel with her green metallic dress.
Golden wings, not forgetting her halo, handed down to me from my grandmother.
No one remembers where she came from. Personally, I don’t care where she came from as long as she is there.
First thing in the morning I say hello, without this ritual my day would be bad.
This I know, because my son hid her in his room one time, I had so little time to search for her. He was sure he had hidden her under his bed.
That day I couldn’t concentrate at work, I lost a client for my boss who was not best pleased.
Picking up my seven-year-old from school, I saw the scrape on his knee.
The school thought it not bad enough to call me, but I felt they should have, and said so.
Those who know me, know this is not my way to handle things.
Safe inside my home, telling Jack to go look for her, I walked into the living room to find her in her usual place on the mantel beside mum’s candlestick.
I know she was not there when I left the house. Pleased to see her back, I called Jack. She’s here, the how didn’t matter.
Jack promised never to touch her again. He had wanted her to help his friend Tom who was having trouble with his new dad never helping with his homework. This made me wonder if Jane, Tom’s mum, needed help.
I would make a point of asking if we could have Tom after school for an hour.
I will put it to her tomorrow.
I think my beautiful angel has done her job.
I fell asleep, wondering how she had returned, for Jack promised he hadn’t put her back.
The how did bother me after all…
© Anita Dawes 2021