I saw three angels today.
The first was an older brother, no more than seven, on the subway. His younger brother was pouting and wouldn't sit. He hugged him and picked him up. "I don't want you to fall," he said as he placed him in their father's lap.
The second was a blonde blue eyed red nosed scooter driving princess. She was swinging her foot alongside her father as they walked to school together. It was a sunny day but even that couldn't explain the light from her face. She coasted by me with a blank stare ahead, like a pink and golden supernova.
The final caught my eye a few seconds later. I was crossing the street with a parade of children heading my way, towards the elementary school (PUBLIC SCHOOL 34, AN INSTITUTION TO TEACH KIDS HOW TO STOP BEING KIDS, VOL. I) On the other side of the crosswalk, a boy dribbled an orange soccer ball at a steady rhythm across the big white lines. His father was in tow, green backpack slung over his shoulder. The boy looked up, don't worry—as the ball stuck like glue to his feet. The mothers clutched their kids tighter and shot his father a dirty look as they surveyed the queue of cars waiting to rev up once the light went green on the avenue. I caught the bearded crossing guard's eyes and we shared a smile.