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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.
Ecclesiasticus 21:16
“The talking of a fool is like a burden in the way: but grace shall be found in the lips of the wise.”
Sirach 21:15-19
15 If a skilful man hear a wise word, he will commend it, and add unto it: but as soon as one of no understanding heareth it, it displeaseth him, and he casteth it behind his back.
16 The talking of a fool is like a burden in the way: but grace shall be found in the lips of the wise.
17 They enquire at the mouth of the wise man in the congregation, and they shall ponder his words in their heart.
18 As is a house that is destroyed, so is wisdom to a fool: and the knowledge of the unwise is as talk without sense.
19 Doctrine unto fools is as fetters on the feet, and like manacles on the right hand.