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mekachu04a storm is brewing…
the air is cold and the wind has started to pick up, and Aziraphale looks up form the book he's been lost in on what had been a lovely spring day. Th ducks in the pond haven't reacted to the weather change - but granted, they are ducks, so perhaps the horizon holds their version of a 'lovely spring day'.
regardless, the angel rests his book on his lap, looking out over the park. he doesn't think the storm will blow in until evening, perhaps after night fall. still plenty of time. but the wind is gong to make holding the pages in the right place irksome, and he's rather not listen to another lecture about miracles to keep his reading material from being damaged.
its sad to loose the afternoon - he'd been enjoying the sun and his story, but, a world without rain is a sad dreary place too, and an evening drizzle is always the perfect coca weather. He's closed the shop for lunch, there's no reason to open it again today if it does take a turn - the humans mean well, but the last thing he wants is one coming in out of the rain and accidentally splattering droplets on his books.
instead, he'll spreads some blessings on his way home - clear traffic, trains on time, the various shop overhangs reaching a little further over the sidewalk than normal. extra soup at the kitchens, more beds at the shelters, and, if one wile is thrown int he mix, whose no know. anyone lingering in the open, looking for a mark, finds the whole evening too miserable to make trouble.
the air is cold and the wind has started to pick up, and Aziraphale looks up form the book he's been lost in on what had been a lovely spring day. Th ducks in the pond haven't reacted to the weather change - but granted, they are ducks, so perhaps the horizon holds their version of a 'lovely spring day'.
regardless, the angel rests his book on his lap, looking out over the park. he doesn't think the storm will blow in until evening, perhaps after night fall. still plenty of time. but the wind is gong to make holding the pages in the right place irksome, and he's rather not listen to another lecture about miracles to keep his reading material from being damaged.
its sad to loose the afternoon - he'd been enjoying the sun and his story, but, a world without rain is a sad dreary place too, and an evening drizzle is always the perfect coca weather. He's closed the shop for lunch, there's no reason to open it again today if it does take a turn - the humans mean well, but the last thing he wants is one coming in out of the rain and accidentally splattering droplets on his books.
instead, he'll spreads some blessings on his way home - clear traffic, trains on time, the various shop overhangs reaching a little further over the sidewalk than normal. extra soup at the kitchens, more beds at the shelters, and, if one wile is thrown int he mix, whose no know. anyone lingering in the open, looking for a mark, finds the whole evening too miserable to make trouble.
