Angel on a Broomstick…

Angel on a Broomstick…

Some days, I think the universe must be having a laugh, because if you’d told me years ago I’d become an angel on a broomstick, I’d have rolled my eyes and gone back to my tea.

But here I am. Wings a little bent from turbulence, halo slightly dented, and broom well used. I never did fit the image of a delicate angel floating around doing good deeds in silence. I’m more the type that mutters under my breath while cleaning up chaos, trying to stay decent while life keeps throwing goblins across my path.

Being an angel on a broomstick isn’t about perfection. It’s about survival, with a bit of style. You learn to steer through storms, to dodge nonsense, and to rise above it all when the mud starts flying. And let me tell you, mud has been flying lately, from every direction, and usually from the same few culprits who love to play innocent when caught.

There’s something freeing about letting go of the image others expect of you. Angels don’t have to wear white, and broomsticks aren’t just for witches. Sometimes the real angels are the ones who sweep up quietly, protect their peace fiercely, and still find a way to glow after being dragged through the dirt.

Some people mistake kindness for weakness; that’s their first mistake. An angel with boundaries and a broom is not to be underestimated. We can clean up your mess or fly right over it, depending on our mood. And on some days, when the nonsense reaches new levels, that broom might just double as a mode of escape and a symbol of “I’m done entertaining this circus.”

There’s a quiet power in choosing light when surrounded by shadows. Not the naïve kind of light that ignores what’s wrong, but the kind that says, I see it, I feel it, but I won’t let it change who I am. That’s the angel part. The broomstick part? That’s the practicality, the bit that says, I’ll keep my grace, but I’ll also sweep you out the door if I have to.

Maybe we all have a bit of angel and broomstick in us, that mix of compassion and no-nonsense. The part that still believes in good but knows the value of keeping a tidy emotional house.

So if you see me flying by with a smirk, don’t mistake it for arrogance. It’s relief. Relief that I’ve finally figured out how to stay soft without being stepped on, and strong without losing my heart.

I’m still an angel, I’ve just learned that sometimes heaven hands you a broom instead of a harp. And honestly, I think it suits me better.

Granny Frass chimes in!

“Ah, sure, the best angels were never afraid of a bit of dust, love. Wings are grand and all, but a broom keeps you grounded. Just remember, if you’re gonna fly, fly with purpose. And if you’re gonna sweep, make sure it’s your own side of the fence you start with. That’s how you keep your shine.”

Mae🧡