I am a specter

I am a shadow

A ghost

I sit on the edge of time

Weaving back and forth

Back and forth

I am whispering in your ear

Can you hear?

And will you listen?

It’s crowded in the French Quarter.  Not just with people, but with memories and with spirits wanting to tell their stories. Sitting quietly, I feel them near. I don’t actually see them but I sense a blonde girl walking down the street with a dark-skinned girl arm in arm.  There’s a boy in blue and a sea captain.  A shadow out of the corner of my eye – what was that? Your name is Thomas?

They recognize and follow the ones who will listen.  Why me?  I am afraid of ghosts and not at all sure I haven’t just gone crazy. Either way, I feel compelled to write it down.  The idea I might be crazy is confirmed because I am freaking my husband out and no one else around me seems to know they are there.  They are too busy site seeing, eating beignets, and taking selfies to notice they are being photo bombed by a long dead gentleman in a derby.

The spirits glide around and through us.  We breathe them in and hold them for moment in our souls.  Then we exhale, and regain our wits.  It happens too quickly for most to notice. “Why am I dizzy?” we ask.  Must be the heat.  It’s so hot in the Quarter.

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