Thanks for dropping by, Rochelle.
“To delight the angels she dances on clouds. Heaven is illuminated by her presence.”
“Clichés.” Luke spat in the sand. “Who really dances on clouds anyway?”
His poetic words touting faith and hope did little to convince himself. He flung his notebook to the ground. Thirteen years was not enough time to love.
Even though none had fallen, he tasted rain. Vaporous whorls and ridges imprinted the blackening sky.
He waded into the churning sea. There he waited for lightning to sear him until her voice whispered on the wind.
“Stay here, my love. Our boys still need you.”