White heaven-bound birds were as brilliant rays from wind-dappled sea-water; their brightness amid otherwise infinite blue, gliding as free souls. In each wing-given arc they were the tips of a conductor's wand, a music for both eyes and soul, bringing a wave of sweet earthly joy.
It was one of those baby-blue skies, not the psychedelic candy-blue nor the washed out grey so characteristic of wintry mornings. The clouds were as puffs of radiant joy, ready to disperse into the wind, to travel our Earth. I watched them eddy, pure reflected rays dappled and swirling with sky, until all that remained was that perfect baby-blue, the same hue as before, as if inviting those born of wing to ride warm thermal air heaven-bound.
The day was postcard perfect, even the buses were running on time. Dow
