“have you felt them this week?” he asked this afternoon just before i left the house for a walk.
“no, not really,” i replied and closed the door behind me.
but they have been here, sitting quietly in the late light just before sunset; you’ll see them out of the corner of your eye and you hope (against hope) that they’ll speak to you, call your name, laugh with you, reach out to touch you (warmly, not the cold foggy finger they use to grasp a hold of your neck in the moonlight.)
i didn’t share that with him, not positive why i kept it to myself–obviously they’re reaching out–it’s been so personal and i can’t decide if i’ve conjured them in response to our recently dearly departed guest (the guest did not die, they just went home, but i couldn’t resist), i mean, that is a possibility, i try, though, to never question why they’re here, why they choose the when and why of their appearances.
it’s good that they’ve come to visit, there is a shred of comfort in their presence and there is concern too–on both our parts–that they’re here with a message and that they won’t be able to communicate it properly or that i won’t understand their language–they rarely speak distinctly and my ghost ‘hearing’ is often faulty, but just for the moments when i catch them looking at me from across the room, the sunlight outlining their auras (is that their form now?) i understand.