The sky above the garden was peppered with the dark shapes of angels. Some were flying towards the spires of the great city, and others were heading away into the various shades of colour and darkness that marked the gateways to many of the distant worlds. They looked like silent bees. All that was missing was the sound. His garden, on the other hand, was quiet; it could have been sleeping and in its slumbers; it looked serene and peaceful. The tall, straight trees that ran around the perimeter of his realm looked down onto the many beds of colourful flowers, and they whispered to each other so as not to wake the blooms.
The stream that fed the garden listened intently to the quiet and held its breath as it passed them all by. It was so fluid and steady that it looked like a long silver p
