"Timmy Tom the half Angel"

Dream meadows, dream leaves, night blooms, lightning trees, fire faeries, flame wings, dream wings.

Once upon a time the sun, the golden sun had a circle around it. A quick silver circle as wide as the sky. Beyond that was an "O" of stars. They shown above even though it was daytime.

Now further out from the stars was another ring. This one of clouds. These clouds beamed with all the bright colors of dawn, and the quiet one of dusk.

Beyond this was starless night.

A great empty void.

This darkness, this terrible deep quiet waited to be painted with G-d's Dreams, and Fire. 

This vast emptiness waited.

It waited to become part of the story.


"The Blue Desert"

A Blue World sails in the twilight between the sleeping void, and the fires of dawn. On this Blue World is a desert. This place is where Angels put things for safe keeping.

The Blue Desert. A desert of blue sand, and rivers of dunes, but here also are great oasis. Tall grass fields of wild flowers, and trees rich with fruit.

Clear streams glittering lakes green valley's abound. All this on a world of desert. These unlikely wonderful things are composed set together like a poem or a prayer. For this is the Blue Desert a place of unlikely miracles.

 
"Timmy Tom"

Once upon a time there was a boy a half Angel. This boy lived all alone in a hut. A hut made of autumn leaves, and bright hopes. This being this child of light dances under the moon can hear the stars sing, and feels the heartbeat of the world.

 
"Gifts"

We are all born with special gifts. Timmy has gifts. Not only can he fly as all Angels do, but he can hear souls sing. 

Every living being has a soul, and every soul has a song. These songs tell the story of the person, says who they truly are.

Timmy can hear these songs just as he can hear the wind in the trees or the hymns from the sky. If you are even part Angelic if you wish you can hear creation sing.


"Dreams"

As a soul's song says what a person is dreams say what they wish to become. That's why people see Angels in dreams. They're watching, and sometimes they guide.

Timmy Tom dreams. Once he dreamed that he was a tree. He could feel his root growing deep into the world. He could feel his leaves his bark. He could sense birds nesting in his trunk. He could feel the wind, and the rain  as it blew through his branches.

This was a happy dream.


"Seasons"

The sun, and moon have chased each other through the seasons. Spring summer fall now winter again has come to this blue world hidden between the eternal quiet, and the fires of creation.


"The Music Box"

Snow beats against Timmy's hut. The wind sings it hard song. The boy sits wrapped in his crimson wings, and a quilt made of twigs dried flowers leaves, and strands of bark. 

He sat looking into his fireplace. The embers flickered seeming to become tangles of birds or trees swaying in the wind. 

Once Timmy saw a ship. 

A brigantine with great amber sails emblazoned with moons, and shooting stars.

These fire vision sometimes moved the boy to retrieve his music box. This was a gift from his mother the Angel of the Northern Lights. The Angel of the Auroras.

Carefully Timmy took the box from the cupboard. He sat before the fire spreading his radiant wings. He lifted the lid of the beautifully carved instrument,...and oh...

It was music like no other.

If rosebuds could sing this would be their song. If clouds could laugh this would be their voice. If spring grass could sing this would be their chant their prayer.

As the snow danced in the wind the half Angel sat before his glowing hearth, and listened. Listened, and watched as the sparks made world after world.

*_________________________________________*

This below was written years after the above. It tells the end of the nearly four year radio saga. Though perhaps "Timmy" might come back.

"Goodbye Timmy Tom"

The first thing I noticed was how quiet it was.

Even the sky was wrong.

The sun dimmer.

Blue sand crunched beneath my feet as I approached the cabin.

Timmy Tom's hut of "Autumn Leaves, and Bright Hopes".

Chinese silk curtains emblazoned with Dragonflies

fluttered from the wide windows.

The front door was open.

I went in.

Empty?

No.

By the window beneath the dancing Dragonfly's.

There reflecting the setting sun was a small drift of gold dust,

and a scattering of crimson feathers.

Quiet.

Quiet.

I didn't know that Angels could die.

*_______________________________________*


(...Thus ended the saga of Timmy Tom or so I thought.

Years after people asked if I would produce for radio or at least blog more chapters. The saga has a niche audience of fantasy, and comic book fans.)

So,...

"It's quite something to see a handful of gold dust, and fragments of dried feathers morph into an Angel. "Timmy" wanted to know what all that noise was, and if anything interesting happened while he was gone.

If I didn't love him so much I  could have smacked him, very lightly, for freaking me out this bad! 

Being Uncle to a semi-fictional teen Queer Angel is 'not' easy.

Keep clapping like Peter Pan sez. 

That damned faerie is right at least about that. Clap like hell Timmy needs to know you really care...the little egomaniac."

*______________________________________*

"Moon Watcher" a fan from another radio station comments on the Timmy Tom affair. 

Mr. Moon's missive below.

"The question asked by Saint Thomas Moore re the quality of Angelic motion as orchestrated at an infinitely small point is really a meditation on space time, and consciousness.

"Who the Hell knows" seems like a perfectly acceptable answer, though not couched in scholastic wording.

A modern skeptical Christian (William Golding, in a neglected masterpiece, "The Inheritors") has also suggested that we must deal with elements in our DNA which are less than the better Angels of our nature.

"Well, if he's an Angel he's a killer Angel".

Seems to me that Timmy Tom asks the right questions, is not unduly servile, but has no wish to reign in the Underworld, dances nimbly around pinheads, and bows gracefully to applause to a wide, and varied audience.

It is not a legitimate critical response to go around looking under all the seats, and protesting that there are no hundred percent Angels with admission stubs.

You never know who may just sneak in anyhow." 

*_______________________________________*

(Umm,...this may all be very confusing to those that haven't read or heard on radio the saga of Timmy. No matter,...each fragment was intended to stand on it's own. 

Take them like pieces of cake. Individually.)