I listened to @TTBOOK1's Ghost Stories about how we're all haunted. By what who we've been. By what we've turned in to. It was the creepiest thing to walk through the mist-riven woods this morning thinking there's about a hundred of me crunching these leaves. Me at eleven was really spooked.
Look at that hawk. Maybe it's my dead Aunt E accompanying me.
Or maybe it's nothing, just the usual, sharing the same space time contiuum with raptor. Happens all the time. It would fly ahead of me, and wait on a branch until I caught up with it. And isn't that exactly what the dead do?
It's that maybe it's something, that keeps me singing "Stay Awake" in my head this time of year when it does feel as if there is some thinning of the skin between the here and the there, that creepy lullaby from the otherwise lovable Mary Poppins. "Stay awake, don't rest your head. Don't lie down upon your bed. You're not sleepy as you seem, stay awake don't rest and dream."
My mother says she saw a ghost. A white embellishment, like embroidery at the edge of a Victorian handkerchief, hovering in the moonlight over the graveyard behind my grandparents farm house. I begged her to tell me about it again, and again, until in my mind's eye I saw it too. A little girl. Significantly, about eleven. My age. I imagined we would wave to each other and I'd say, Hey! I'd say, Hey! Do you collected model horses like I do?
But I've never really seen a ghost.