We Were All Ghosts
It had snowed in early Spring, and a warm snap caused a cloak of mist to settle among the trees. I walked in the heavy air, so dense it made my breath sound like that of a stranger. I was grieving, and the stillness was a salve. Moving shapes emerged and I found myself among a herd of deer; they slipped around me on invisible legs, horns soft as wings against the swirling ether. I held my breath. They paid me no mind. I wondered if we were ghosts.
–Teresa Kiplinger
Leave a comment