The Angel Painter
I didn't even realize I was an "angel person."
Funny the things you don't notice. For years people have given me angel objects, and I've wound up with family treasures from distant relatives, knickknacks from friends and every angelic kind of thing in between.
Our daughter Nikita sleeps in a bedroom with angels and fairies that I painted on her wall. "Angel" says a plaque in my kitchen because we named our younger daughter Angelina.
I work as a mural artist, and my paintings seem to feature winged creatures of all kinds. Maybe it's because I often do my work high up by the ceiling. It's no wonder that angelic creatures feel at home there.
One day a friend came to my house for the first time. We walked around talking about our kids, sipping coffee. At one point in the conversation she startled me. "I love your angels," she said. "I'm an angel person myself."
"An angel person?" I asked. I hadn't thought of myself that way, but I supposed I was. "How did you know?"
"Because you have angels in every room of your house!" my friend said. "And outside too."
Funny. I hadn't realized. But my friend was aboslutely right. They were everywhere. Inside, outside, everywhere you can imagine. Just like real angels.
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