Introduction
“The oak sleeps in the acorn; the bird waits in the egg; and in the highest vision of the soul, a waking angel stirs.”—James Allen
In Issue 15 of Young Ravens Literary Review, we explore our “Waking Angels.” Following after the feathers of divinity, sprites of nature, and those moments of clarity where we become one with the cosmic creativity of the universe, our contributors seek out the variable muses and messengers of inspiration.
We discover grace in a sprig of clover, in the well-worn love of a grandmother, in marshes wild with bird trills. Sometimes, we seek out our waking angels in vain. Loss may strip the assurance of constancy and connection from our hearts. At times—relentless in the crush—we may feel boxed in and burned out (Seth Ketchem). Yet, still we find ourselves dreaming in the dark to try and understand the shape of our shadows, and those glimmers that catch and reflect our myriad hopes.
Sometimes, we may find our waking angels taking on an unexpected form. Perhaps it is the freedom as wide as wings to shrug off societal expectations of how one’s life should be, and enjoy cupcakes on the roof at the age of 62 (Lea Galantar). It could be as startling and simple as a dog print in snow as we gather strength and renewal from all that is mundane and precious in our world.
For bound deep in the gravity of our being, the longing to fly stirs us on daily—no matter how brief the flash of ascendance.
In Issue 15 of Young Ravens Literary Review, we explore our “Waking Angels.” Following after the feathers of divinity, sprites of nature, and those moments of clarity where we become one with the cosmic creativity of the universe, our contributors seek out the variable muses and messengers of inspiration.
We discover grace in a sprig of clover, in the well-worn love of a grandmother, in marshes wild with bird trills. Sometimes, we seek out our waking angels in vain. Loss may strip the assurance of constancy and connection from our hearts. At times—relentless in the crush—we may feel boxed in and burned out (Seth Ketchem). Yet, still we find ourselves dreaming in the dark to try and understand the shape of our shadows, and those glimmers that catch and reflect our myriad hopes.
Sometimes, we may find our waking angels taking on an unexpected form. Perhaps it is the freedom as wide as wings to shrug off societal expectations of how one’s life should be, and enjoy cupcakes on the roof at the age of 62 (Lea Galantar). It could be as startling and simple as a dog print in snow as we gather strength and renewal from all that is mundane and precious in our world.
For bound deep in the gravity of our being, the longing to fly stirs us on daily—no matter how brief the flash of ascendance.