Being yourself is enough.

 

Holidays are wonderful—especially when the sea sparkles a few steps away and there are no chores, no fuss. When the sun hides behind the mountain, you can slip onto the still-warm sand and swim for ages in the sun-soaked salty water. Splash around with friends, carefree and laughing; swim out to the floating pier and leap off it at a run, sending up a thousand drops. Wear yourself out on the way back—and then chatter forever about all sorts of little things (and not only little things).

 

He really wants her to like him.

She’s a naïve, pretty classmate—quite diligent, always ready to join in, and surprisingly inventive. She sees the world for real, and you can tell.

How can I get closer to her?.. If only she couldn’t solve a problem—I’d help. Or if she scraped her knee—I’d help her to the bench and run for a bandage…

 

Sometimes he wants to shake her up: race, make her mad, and then apologize.

How? What goes on in these girls’ heads? They only chase you if you tug a braid or snatch a backpack.

And today—she simply refuses to swim to the pier.

 

Oh! I’ll grab her goggles. She won’t have a choice—she’ll swim.

 

— Ha! Catch me if you can!

 

— Wait! How am I supposed to swim without those?!

 

— Come on! I’ll give them back on the pier!

 

He jumped and sprint-swam toward the pier. She had no choice—she dove after him.

A wave was a bit higher than usual; she managed, but climbed the ladder with effort.

He was twirling her goggles on his finger.

 

— Ooh-la-la!

 

— You know… you don’t have to make me uncomfortable just to get my attention.

 

He was stunned.

She stepped up, calmly took the suddenly limp goggles from his hand, and sat on the edge of the pier.

He came over quietly and sat beside her.

 

— No one’s ever said that to me before… I’m sorry. That was dumb.

 

— It’s okay, — she looked at him.

— You didn’t know.

 

— Yeah. I thought to be noticed you had to do something.

 

— Not at all.

 

— How do you know?

 

— An Angel told me.

 

— An Angel?..

 

— Yes. He’s always near.

 

— But can you eve—

 

He stopped, because a springy wave of air rolled along the pier. They turned—and saw Him.

A dazzling, smiling Angel with huge white wings stood at the end of the bobbing pier, hands tucked in his pockets, looking at the children with a calm smile.

 

— Yes, of course you can see me, — said the Angel. — Just not always.

 

She jumped up and ran to him.

 

— High five!!!

 

They greeted each other the usual way—palms clapping bright and clear.

The boy stood back, unsure, watching his friend chat so easily with an Angel.

 

— Excuse me, are you real?

 

— Tavis, — the Angel offered his hand. — Hi.

 

He shook it, trying to squeeze as firmly as he could. Nailed it.

 

— You’re strong!

 

— Thanks.

 

— Want to fly to the clouds for a moment? — he asked them both.

 

— Yes!!! — she clapped and hopped with the thrill of a magic adventure.

 

— I do. Is it safe? — he asked, still cautious.

 

— It is. Let’s go.

 

He held out his hands, palms open to the sky. They set theirs on his—and at once, fanned by a gentle breeze, drifted upward.

 

It took their breath away—the shining sea slipping behind, the mountain, the dear little town clinging to the cliffs.

There were clouds. They stepped onto them as into thick evening fog by a river.

 

— That’s exactly what it is, — Tavis said softly. — Fog—just in the sky.

 

— Here we are. Come on.

 

They walked through a cloud-city along a broad street, among houses and cozy squares.

The rumble of engines sounded. From around the bend rolled two Angels on gleaming bikes.

One—huge and stern; the other, his companion… she shone with an incredible, magical light.

Both wore white biker jackets and jeans. Like a heavenly patrol, they cruised by, stately and unhurried.

Everyone exchanged an easy smile and a friendly nod.

 

The children stood spellbound.

 

— Not quite how you pictured angels?

 

— No…

 

— The world changes, and the world of angels changes with it. We don’t become other, we widen our knowing—to understand and feel you better. To love, to guard—and to carry warmth to everyone.

 

— What do you need to get an angel’s warmth and care? — the boy asked.

 

— Nothing… Only to want it.

 

— That simple?

 

— Yes. I can give warmth—here and now.

You don’t need to suffer, be in danger, mess up badly or be sick. You can receive my warmth simply because warmth is needed.

 

— And I keep telling him: you really don’t have to do nasty things for me to like you.

 

They stuck out their tongues and made faces at each other.

 

— Yes, kids. People often think warmth must be earned:

be diligent, hardworking, pretty or rich.

No. None of that matters in the least.

 

— Why?

 

— God loves everyone. He gives warmth and love regardless of rank, brain, or looks.

And we serve you—even when you’re naughty or make mistakes.

 

— Like Mom!!! — they both shouted at once.

 

— Yes. I’m glad you understand.

So now, when you want to be with someone—just come and be.

If you want warmth—ask for warmth. If you want attention—say, “Look at me.”

 

— And we don’t need a pretext, — she said, already looking at her friend kindly. — I like being with you. You don’t have to try to look better.

 

— And I like being with you.

 

A sweet hush settled, like the silence after sunrise in a birch grove—

light, quiet—and a faint birdsong…

 

— Well then, my friends, time to go home. Here, take these.

 

He plucked two feathers from his wings and handed them to the children…

…and burst into a billion sparks.

 

The mist cleared—and they were back on the pier amid the waves, glancing around in wonder.

 

A patrol boat zoomed up.

 

— Hey, little ones, hop in! I’ll give you a lift! — the captain called.

 

They climbed aboard and skimmed to shore with the breeze.

 

He came home tired and happy.

Washed up. Ate. Lay down in his cozy bed.

Holding a light white feather in his hand, he suddenly thought:

 

Being yourself is enough.

 

— Yes! — the light night wind whispered.