I’ve spent the day seeing ghosts. Not ghosts of people I know or the ghosts in my memory but people who are just out of the corner of my vision. I’m not accustomed to them being there, appearing, the man on the armoire and the woman with the long dark hair who stands in the hallway. The waft of light perfume that I know belongs to the Grandmother I never met, as I stir cookie batter in the kitchen.
It’s time for quiet and looking inward, these shades are pointing the way. Call me crazy for acknowledging these visitors, imagination or reality, they are here.