In the novel “The Time of Angels” (1962) there are no distances or boundaries. The mountain ranges of the Voudouise region become the icy wings of angels supporting the sky. The splash of the waves merges with the measured noise of their powerful wings. Angels throwing themselves into Lake Leman, arms forward, mouth open in fear, are visible in the rays of the sunset. The leaves are spinning on a village street not because of the blowing wind, but around a stick in angelic hands. The grass growing between the huge boulders is fragrant. The flight trajectories of wasps and dragonflies are comparable to the ellipses and circles of motion of distant planets. Angels are nearby, but meeting them is not always safe. “Every angel is terrible,” Rilke warned, and in Colom the little angel Joseph with freckles, a large mouth and protruding ears, who burned his offenders in anger, is already placed at the gates of heaven.