The Angel Jars

It had been later and later in the summer that the angels had been coming these past few years. Jonas Creeley had watched their comings and goings his entire life, and he knew just what to do.

The mountain folk had strung their jars up like this for generations. The belief was that the rose water would sometimes catch a blessing from the angels, and would bring good fortune for the year ahead when it was sprinkled over the seed before planting in the spring. He smiled at the thought that so many believed that silly old tale. The story had gotten so twisted over the decades, that few really knew the truth of it anymore. But he knew. His grandmother had been blessed with the sight when she was just a child, and she knew the real secret of the Angel Jars. All over the mountains the jars were hung and left like a silent prayer for the planting blessings, but Jonas knew how to do it right.

Jonas strung his jars out on the lines strung from the eave of the house to the old tree by the fence. He knew the angels would bring their blessings to his rose water. He chuckled to himself, thinking about what he would do with it once it was blessed. All those city folks would come down once again, one at a time, to buy his angel water. They would come reverently, money in hand, to purchase the one true love potion still proven potent in these hills. And Jonas would be able to buy that next 100 acres on the other side of the hill this year, for sure. He smiled as the sun went down, sitting on the porch in his rocking chair. Just as it sunk below the horizon, he turned the switch on, lighting up the white Christmas lights out along the lines. And so they came to his jars, first one by one, then by the dozen, attracted by the lights, and he smiled even bigger as they began to dance on the rims of the jars, bringing their blessings, and his fortune, as he rocked on the porch.


363 words.