The beautiful photo, taken by my friend David Steele in Santa Fe, inspired this post.
The Ghosts of Other Feet (in 100 words or fewer!)
I feel the ghosts of other feet. Who, following the yellow sun riding the crest of the ridge, skipped the path, scuffing the dust in a fit of deliciousness at being alive? Who trudged the deadfall-strewn path, winded, burdened by failure? What lovers strolled, hands entwined, too drawn to each other’s faces to capture the slipping light? The roots of the sky-poking trees must absorb the footfalls, releasing them like vapor, like ghosts of human experience into the evening-cool air.