The miniature angel climbed up the inside of the bus window. I opened it, careful not to crush her. With a flash of her wand and a buzz of her wings, she spiralled out into the hot damp air.
wand
Barefoot on gravel I stumbled
The tip of the lost wand poked up through the gravel, as if a sharp star or the shine in your eyes had fallen from soft blackness. I was barefoot. And that was the story that repeated itself again and again.
simonsalento 