Lifting me up to the crest of Bunker Hill.
Entranced as if by a gaze beckoning me ever closer.
Gradually the car matriculates towards its only destination.
I wish it would never end.
Seats filling in a hurry lends an opportunity for intimacy.
A vintage landmark.
Initially at rest within its limited bounds.
A shoulder to lean on in the meantime.
A lesson in savoring journeys of all lengths.
An opportunity in savoring fleeting physical connectivity.
In the subtle actions and experiences.
That make our hearts race.
And our days worth living fully.
We find life's purpose.
The cars anticipate a narrow miss.
Shifting in turn as they are meant to.
Just as we are meant to be here.
Soaring together in more ways than one.
The capacity to see so deeply into.
The heart of an Angel.
Is a responsibility to hold dearly.
Amid the rattling, the shaking.
The meticulous timing and the near collisions.
The excitedly confusing navigations in short order.
The orange crested arch beckons entrance below.
Adoration is at once found in the shimmering lights above the gate.
Making the most of limited time is a lesson learned especially here.
Love is intrinsically felt in simple proximity.
No explanation is necessary in the form of words.
Action in delicate contact is the purveyor of meaning here.
When being drawn to the domain of the Angels.
Accompanied by one of their own.
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