These angels do not look like angels. They look
like old people, stooped and weary, clothed in the rags they have been wearing for
centuries.
From a distance it almost appears that they are
hanging their heads, but in actuality they are looking down, as they so often
do, situated as they are at such a lofty remove from the old torments and joys of the earth.
They are standing together, huddled and peering
down over the lip of a cloud, watching a bridge burning far below them.
A burning bridge is one of the half dozen earthly
occurrences (along with the suffering of children, cruelty to animals, neglect
of the elderly, joylessness, and acts of religious bigotry and intolerance) that
are capable of breaking even the hearts of angels.
A bridge --all bridges-- are essential symbols of
the mission of angels, and the destruction of bridges is a tragedy that
reverberates through the most distant and rarefied reaches of Heaven.
A burning bridge is even more tragic and lamented
than a bridge obliterated through mere
destruction or disaster. It is also, sadly, one of the few acts of human
willfulness in which the angels are not allowed to intercede. The burning of
bridges is an act of terrorism against hope, and reduces even the oldest angels
to a pack of numb and speechless spectators at the scene of a crime.
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