The Ghosts

There is one couple staying at the lodge at Base Camp and though Jeep has rented all of Last Hurrah they are just using it for set up for the big unveiling of the 2019 models on Monday. They call it "The Show." Linny has cleaned all day and I'm checking it out and moving hoses to make sure it's looking as good as it can look. It's quiet. There's nobody over here.

It's Saturday night and it feels like the early days when I moved here. I would set outside and imagine the time when dinosaurs roamed the land. Then later when the Anasazi, Ute, and Fremont were the caretakers. I'd listen to native American flute music and drift back to the day of the souls of before. Ghost time.

It's like that tonight. I feel them again. There are slight sounds. A few bats have returned and if your hearing permits high decibel reception you hear their pings. It's an acquired listen. At the river on the island a mile downstream geese are jockeying for nesting spots as occasional squabbles break out and as I walk around the pond to collect the pumps and hoses frogs jump in at my approach. The wind carries the souls of before and whispers peek around the corners. 

The female big horn are carrying heavy and soon there will be babies. The ravens have devastated the hawk population and the white-crowned sparrows, house finches, and Eurasian doves are calling for mates. The singing is plentiful. It's a spring of sorts and in a few days temps will reach the 70s.

Monday morning corporate Jeep will be here and the ghosts will fade replaced by 100 of the present. Writers, photographers, and the like. The talk will be of 2019 and the Hughes Net Gen 5 wifi will be streaming out the new models to all the off road magazines. There will be other ghost days, just not as many. Things as they always do have changed. I miss the time for imagination, the time for ghosts.