It took three weeks, two days, and approximately sixteen hours of walking these unfamiliar grounds to figure out why they felt like being brushed by the past; like walking hand in hand with an apparition.
It was the trees.
The smell of pine takes me back to hair frizzled by sleeping bags and clothes scented with smoke and pine and innocence; to the days of being knee-high and desperately seeking tiny traces of fairy existence or unusually friendly animals guarding secret lives in treetops and riverbanks.
It took three weeks, two days, and approximately sixteen hours to realize why I can't stop walking these spots in evenings, in the pre-sunrise campfire smoke gray, and any time in-between.
It took three weeks, two days, and approximately sixteen hours to realize that your ghost wears the cologne of pine and river air.
YOU ARE READING
Dancing with Ghosts
PoetryA collection of poems coping with the juxtaposition of grief and beauty, pain and nostalgia, heart ache and celebrations. From breakups to losing a child, a parent, a friend, a sibling, I hope this little collection of poems helps someone out there...
