The clouds swelled high, thick, and threatening. Nothing
wispy,...
The clouds swelled high, thick, and threatening. Nothing
wispy, these clouds were more like mountains. We worked quickly to beat the
thunderstorms forecast for the afternoon, installing railings high up on a roof
in Lexington which overlooks an old graveyard. The sun crushed us and below, a
cluster of young kid fieldtrippers wandered around the graves which emerge from
the earth like crooked mossy teeth. I asked the owner if he’d ever slept up on
his roof. He said he hadn’t, but that I was welcome to whenever I felt like it.
I like the idea of spying on the ghosts at night, to see what sort of flirting
they do. (At-night graveyards are ghost flirt-fests, I have a feeling.) I like
the idea of seeing them in the moonlight, perched on their weather-worn stones.
Did the kids on their fieldtrip think about ghosts? I bet maybe they don’t so
much think about them as feel them, here and there, in between thoughts about
lemonade and swimming and chasing each other unaware of the clouds which continued to rise
and rise and swell.
