Walking Angels

Neither a lofty degree of intelligence nor imagination nor both together go to the making of genius. Love, love, love, that is the soul of genius.
--Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

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My friend, TerriLyn, and I often talk about our encounters with “walking angels.” She told me about meeting one in a mall with her nine-year-old daughter, Gabrielle. She was feeling particularly low this day, chemo taking a vicious toll emotionally on her and afflicting her with periodic chemo-induced hot flashes. She was wearing a bandanna over her bald head. Both of them were waiting for something tangible to leap out and yell “Buy me!”

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“Perhaps a new pair of earrings?” she half-asked her daughter.
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It was the second half of her real question: “What would make me feel better right now?”
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A woman approached TerriLyn and her daughter, face glowing and eyes bright. She seemed familiar, but TerriLyn couldn’t place the face.
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Involuntarily, she asked, “Do I know you?”
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“No.” The woman shook her head. “But I just wanted to say that you are looking great!”
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“Thanks. Thank you very much.” TerriLyn was so stunned that she almost stammered.
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Then the woman was gone.
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TerriLyn stood in the aisle looking down at Gabrielle. She ran her hand over her daughter’s hair, then rested her hand on her shoulder. She appeared to be growing taller by the minute. She looked more deeply into her daughter’s face--not surprised, not asking questions, just looking back at her. She glanced down again, feeling a bit lighter than she had before this encounter.
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“Gabrielle,” she asks, smiling, “Wanna buy some earrings?”