When my sister Annie died, angels took on new meaning for me. If there are really angels, and I truly hope there are, then I know I have a little sister angel somewhere, everywhere.
I always had angels in my gardens. Now I have more angels in my gardens.
When my sister Annie died, setting suns, snowfalls, and singing birds took on new meaning.
I always had birds singing in my gardens, but now I hear their songs more clearly.
I don’t know why.
I look and I listen and I seek and I hope. For what, I really don’t know.
Maybe just an angel in my garden.