ICM

Onto the bank this morning before work … I keep getting locked out but finally got sorted and finished off arrangements for Norfolk next month.

It was the Mormon’s turn to call today. I was properly dressed this time https://www.blipfoto.com/entry/3192960754655431505 … it was pouring with rain. Baffling. I didn’t like to say I’d seen the musical.

I got out for a brief blast of air between storms and as I walked I was reminded of one of my favourite poems which was equally relevant to work today. 

Questions About Angels - Billy Collins 

Of all the questions you might want to ask 
about angels, the only one you ever hear 
is how many can dance on the head of a pin. 

No curiosity about how they pass the eternal time 
besides circling the Throne chanting in Latin 
or delivering a crust of bread to a hermit on earth 
or guiding a boy and girl across a rickety wooden bridge. 

Do they fly through God's body and come out singing? 
Do they swing like children from the hinges 
of the spirit world saying their names backwards and forwards? 
Do they sit alone in little gardens changing colors? 

What about their sleeping habits, the fabric of their robes, 
their diet of unfiltered divine light? 
What goes on inside their luminous heads? Is there a wall 
these tall presences can look over and see hell? 

If an angel fell off a cloud, would he leave a hole 
in a river and would the hole float along endlessly 
filled with the silent letters of every angelic word? 

If an angel delivered the mail, would he arrive 
in a blinding rush of wings or would he just assume 
the appearance of the regular mailman and 
whistle up the driveway reading the postcards? 

No, the medieval theologians control the court. 
The only question you ever hear is about 
the little dance floor on the head of a pin 
where halos are meant to converge and drift invisibly. 

It is designed to make us think in millions, 
billions, to make us run out of numbers and collapse 
into infinity, but perhaps the answer is simply one: 
one female angel dancing alone in her stocking feet, 
a small jazz combo working in the background. 

She sways like a branch in the wind, her beautiful 
eyes closed, and the tall thin bassist leans over 
to glance at his watch because she has been dancing 
forever, and now it is very late, even for musicians.