This is the last photo I took of Indigo, who died earlier this month. I can’t claim that she was ever a well-behaved dog, but she was always a well-loved dog, and the house feels strange without her.
(The slideshow photos were taken by my husband.)
I adore Christmas decorations, and therefore own far too many of them. But each ornament and figurine, toy and trinket has it’s own story. Each represents a memory or wish, a moment or emotion. They sparkle and spin on the tree. They march across shelves and perch on the mantel. For a single season, the house sprouts a glorious clutter of nostalgia and peace.
Next week, I’ll spend a quiet day packing it all into boxes and stacking it in the attic for another year, and the house will resume its usual routine. My memories, wishes, moments, and emotions will scatter, untethered, into the nebulous ether of experience.
I spent Thursday evening at Ferry Plantation House in Virginia Beach. The tour focused on the property’s history of reported paranormal activity: a long list of ghost sightings (including numerous accounts of a ghostly cat), eerie sensations, and unexplained noises.
I didn’t see, sense, or hear anything that I would describe as paranormal, but I confess a measure of skepticism. So would I recognize a ghost or spirit? Would I explain away the inexplicable, reaching for words like draft and reflection, echo and entropy? I admit a tendency to skepticism, but I can’t solidify my position into one of denial. As with many of life’s mysteries, I am conflicted.
What I can say with certainty is that I enjoyed prowling through the house, which is filled with interesting artifacts. My fascination with history borders on obsession, and the house contained more history than I could absorb in the course of one evening.
I would love to hear from readers on the subject of paranormal experiences. Do you believe, or are you a skeptic?
In my dragonfly archives, I have more pictures of blue dashers than any other species. (At least, I believe so. As noted in a previous post, dragonfly identification is a tough study, for me.) While I can’t claim absolute confidence, I’m reasonably certain that all of these are blue dashers.
Please correct me, if I am wrong!
There’s so much going on that it’s hard to know where to look. If I focus my camera on the vultures wheeling overhead, I miss the carpenter bees zooming underfoot. There are crane flies mating and irises blooming and new visitations of wonder in every corner of the yard.