Summer is gone, yet there are traces of it everywhere…
You are not here, but I see you in the trees, in the sky, in the little things I cherish and hold at home, and everyone sees you in the smiles I cannot hide. No one knows why I laugh at moments where there is no reason for laughter. The secret memories, the in-jokes, those delicate treasures are invisible and can only be shared between us until we fade and die. The thought of these thoughts passing away into the wind frightens me only a little. It is the way of all things, yet I’m only comfortable with disappearing as long as I’m not the only one who will.
My friends and I… You and I… We could disappear as if we never were here, but I like to believe that there will always be traces left behind. Not just bones and dust, but words and books, paintings and sculptures, monuments or mounds, carbon scars or trails of pottery and salt to mark where once we lived and loved. Home will be overgrown by trees and shelter for animals. Echoes of us will replay and future generations will chase after our ghosts.
Won’t we make the happiest of phantoms? I believe so. Maybe even now there are ghosts of us somewhere backwards in time, the shades of us as children are playing while we’re too busy behaving as adults, and while we scatter ourselves across the world, there will always be these spirits at home laughing midst the trees and chipmunks… can’t you hear the leaves rustle where once we walked? Or is that the forest remembering us?