photo credits
Judy Meeker

When I was a child, the long winters passed with me walking through the woods to a small one room schoolhouse.
Many was the times that, I'd fling myself down in the snow, and with my little arms high and lifted up as if in flight, I made angels in the snow, before hurrying on my way and leaving a trail of winged prints behind. As a child, I have oftened wondered whatever became of these nameless angels. As an adult I made up my own revelation as to where they went...

The spring wind blows across the mountains. Her warm wet breath, the highest form of invisible vapor frees the ice to rise to the top of the riverbeds and streams where it had been trapped in solid form.
the sun lifts it up in the form of evaporated water, and through this process of purification the dust and dirt that it had gathered on earth falls away. From out of these invisible vapors of purest life, the snow angels rise above their death and take flight. Mountain laurel quickly takes over the winged prints, replacing them with white blooms.

From out of this revelation came the poem,
'Flight of the Snow Angels.'

Beneath sunny kisses
They take to the air
And vanish like the child
That once left them there.
Like a dark bird time sweeps over the hills
And takes the winged prints from snow covered fields
Back to the far north where all angels go
That ever was made by a child in the snow.  

I like to believe this to be truth.