Angels

When I was a child I used to think heaven was like this: clouds forming an ocean where the little angels would be playing. All because of Turma da Monica, a Brazilian cartoon featuring, amongst others, Anjinho (Little Angel).

Today I believe angels are shaped like birds. This is the only explanation.

When my father died, I could feel him by my side whenever a hummingbird would come nearby, mostly when I was watering my garden.

Then, when my cousin passed, he came back as a Blue-bird. He would hit our window, would fight with his own reflection, wanted to get inside.

This lasted weeks until I understood that he needed to know that everything was fine and he had turned into an angel.

And like this, he left.

He nested, had two baby-birds to care for and, one day, the whole family left.

I continue to find this beautiful: all those white clouds. I can imagine the angels playing soccer.

Childhood. Magic. Comes and goes.