She doesn't think I see her, but I do. Oh, I do. The ramshackle lady in flimsy pink flip-flops is a ghost. Is a ghost. We all haunt the places we miss the most. Even when the body is bound up by the present day, the spirit struggles to have its way. It asks: "Is this our time?" Come home, come home. There are no more fields in which to roam.
Semi-Daily Scribbles
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Posted in Animals, Autumn, Change, Home, Loss, Love, Memory, Nature, Nostalgia, Observations, Pain, Peace, The Journey, Time, Travel
Semi-Daily Scribbles 
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