“What once could be called a long hiatus was actually more like a death. These abandoned pages had no breath of life to move them forward into the known. But the breezes have started to blow in this hinterland where sand replaces snow.
I’ve become a ghost. I’m not physically present- you can’t see me, hear me, or touch me. But these short tales let you know I’m still here, living in this parallel world. You’ll catch a glimpse of me, just enough to make you wonder if what you saw was real or just your imagination…”
THE TALE OF A HOUSE HAUNTED
This time last year my family had packed up everything and moved on up to the river where they set up camp to farm their sorghum. This year there was no rain and no farming to be done there. To carry on the spirit of moving, they’ll leave our compound and come to call this new house “home.” Perched at the village’s edge, on the cusp of the Mortoki Forest, it sits eerily unfinished while the winds whip up sand into an illusion of fog. I took a walk here trying to imagine its furnished future and caught site of the unexpected. A giant white barn owl flew out from the rafters, screeching into flight. He took off in the wind and was gone as quickly as he materialized. The fleeting image of his heart-shaped face and brilliant wingspan haunts me. When my family moves in, I’ll see him there, too, eternally inhabiting that glassless window. He and I are more alike than I may ever know.