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There is a woman at the top of the stairs.
Her brunette hair up in a bun, tiny tendrils caress her slender neck. Her smile is a beaming light, her almond brown eyes have found yours.
I climb the stairs, others evaporate away into nothing. All attention fixed on her.
I cross paths with a glorious light.
Hurry up and slow down, don’t act a fool, don’t trip on the stairs, hold on to the railing, get a grip.
It’s too late.
All I could manage was a sheepish, “Hello.”
She smiled ever so brightly, and said, “Hi.”
Her smell a flower garden of repast, her hair a raven’s nest of alluvial wisps.
The moon raising her up to the highest.
The Selenite orb enshrines the glowing city in a whimsical beauty. I walk into the future.
The angels are alive and well.
There Is A Woman At The Top Of The Stairs.
CLEANSE WITH FIRE.
Burn out the dross.
Fire and sulfur.
https://youtu.be/_IfNlH1QJq8
Fruit of the land for SURVIVORS ONLY.
They are obscuring your glorious canopy.
Glorify your OVERCOMERS.
Who among us can dwell with CONSUMING FIRE?
Babylon The Great is Fallen, is fallen.
OUR GOD IS A CONSUMING FIRE.
https://pepper.works/news/repent-2/
https://pepper.works/news/orbital-cascade-failure/