Poetic Soul

The other evening, my husband and I were sitting out on our patio, enjoying the cool evening breeze and the sunset.

As the sun slowly lowered, dipping behind the oak trees in the distance, the sky lit with colors hard to describe--pearly gold, purplish pink, neon magenta. It was beautiful.

"Look!" I said. "That huge cloud is an avenging angel, his stern, angry face looking over the earth, his wings outspread, on fire with the wrath of God."

Then "Look! Over there is a man in a wide-brimmed hat, smoking a cigarette, his back to the wind. The breeze is blowing the cigarette smoke straight out away from him."

Again "Look! Right in front of us is a horse . . . no, a prancing steed, his head up high and proud, his feet lifted in a high trot."

My husband just looked at me. After a moment he said, "There's a backwards L. With one wing."

Guess who has the poetic soul and who has the practical one?