An angelic child looks on with chubby cheeks cupped in its hands. A picture on a stationary box fished out of the trash. They're everywhere. The stained glass seraph hovers above the window too. It doesn't say much. A wish was directed to it once but denied. At least, that's what it seemed. One October, two writers united under its pearly wings, but their flow was halted. It was protective --but a little too overbearing? I don't think so. Its silence is my rock.