Heaven
Heaven Heaven has to be black and white, I've decided. Clouds are luminous there, so shadows are all the more prominent. The outlines of every soul are etched into a brilliant sun. I think we wouldn't have wings in heaven–just long, ivory robes like Emily Dickinson described in her poems. They would flatter any figure, but we wouldn't care, being souls. Could we choose our soul form, I wonder? The one that we felt more inclined to on Earth, or one that wraps us in a toga of charm? Could we choose our most beautiful remembrance of ourselves on Earth? No, more likely in heaven our soul is at its purest–perhaps a beam of light or a quiver of energy. We could shine as much as the sun or just a prick of periwinkle. Maybe we would don robes on the way up and then they would automatically permeate into the atmosphere once we accepted our real essence. Maybe some souls would be carried into the cloud canopy still decorated in human skin, only to realize in looking down t...