Natchez Ghost

Here in the forest along a rocky stream on the Natchez Trace Trail, I stand pondering who might have passed here. How many might have stopped and rested as I am now? Herds of Buffalo might have drank from the crystal waters here on their journey to greener pastures long before humans arrived on this continent. And the Chickasaw people who resided in this land for thousands of years might have camped along this stream on a hunting expedition.

Blotches of lichen and moss cover the sandstone layers of rock jutting out of the banks at oblique angles, rocks that were formed layer upon layer on sandy shores for millions of years, 400 million years ago. And as the land masses came together in the super continent of Pangaea, the sand layers that were compacted into stone buckled and broke to form these jagged upheavals of rock that now line the banks of this stream.

I stand alone here, alone as I have been most of my life, seeking a fleeting peace that seems ever out of reach. It's not that no others are around and interact with me, it's only that I can't seem to share my inner most thoughts and feelings with anyone. I was naive in my youth, thought all saw as I saw. Maybe for a brief period of time, I shared the same vision with a few, but the connection faded with time, like cataracts cloud the eyes.

Now, here in this moment, I feel the presence of a soul who passed this way once before me. One who left their spirit sandwiched in these layers of stone, an old soul full of love and wisdom that sees the beauty in all that surrounds us, one who shines bright rays of hope through this dense forest canopy, rays that now glisten in this gentle stream. Oh how I long to share this fleeting moment with that beautiful soul now, and in the flesh. But alas, it is not my fate, and I will just have to take what comfort I can in this ghostly visit.