Elan Mudrow
Smidgens
Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired
Timothy Lake July 2018
She’s a ghost. I know that. She brushes her fingers along my shoulders and I will look up to find her playing among the trees, pretending to be the wind. She’ll drop a pinecone or a small branch as a reminder. Then, off she goes to the deeper part of the forest where I can’t follow. She laughs. I can’t hear it, but I know she’s laughing.
This spirit of hers doesn’t frighten me. But there are times when the forest is as still as death. It’s upon these moments, in silent life, when I look behind me on the trail and shudder in my aloneness.
She returns, that’s what ghosts do, with her sound, a rustling, a stirring, a theme she buries deep inside me. Its tune reminds me that I’m also a ghost. At times, this makes me sad, to know I’m as invisible as her, but it’s her way of empowering me, to haunt. I can’t help but to be…a ghost.
I can tell you this one thing. It’s the only thing I really, really know. If you listen, you will also know you’re a ghost. Even when you’re in the middle of nowhere, look up, and see a jet leaving contrails high in the sky, above the wilderness, without making a sound.
55 Comments on “Ghost Story For The Wilderness Impaired”
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Elan Mudrow 
Interesting. Thanks!
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Wow… somehow I am reminded of my old hunting lodge, nestled deep in the swamps of North Carolina…
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I dig it
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That’s an excellent description of what it feels like and more deeply what may be true.
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🙂
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