Sister Spirits In Old Churchyard?
Amherst, MA - Meandering the roads of Amherst, I wasn’t looking for a story, but was, as always, prepared to find one. I’d hoped for the spring air’s awakening to greet me with its smokey freshness. Pleased was I to find myself striding towards the setting sun on an old farm road, and nearly at the open gate of a misty churchyard. I’ve found dusk to be a particularly curious and mischievous time shaded with friendly shadows of periwinkle and lavender. It’s at this time, especially in these sort of ghostly places where the golden gauze divorcing reality from the ethereal grows thin enough that technicolor, translucent hues splinter and adorn the air.
The old headstones stood stalwart in the way of quiet, kind, and rueful sages. Among them, three figures stood, but also sort of drifted, but...also danced. Somehow they did all three at once and each individually at the same time. The details of their beings flickered in and out of clarity, but even through a kaleidoscopic lens the resemblance between them would’ve been notable. The primary difference between their faces was their hair, which at once distinguished them. While one had a cropped, tawny buzz, the second had similarly colored locks but draping ones that trickled down to the backs of her legs, and the third had winding waves of brownish undertones with shocks of gold spiraling atop.
The supernatural always seems to have a way of accentuating the capriciousness of time. It was only a number of moments though, I believe, after seeing them that I began to hear twinkling, chiming bells, both reserved and radiant. A sound similar to that of stars lightly waltzing on glass skylines.
My recognition of it was slow and hazy, like the experience of an awakening dreamer floating to the shore of consciousness from the high seas of their last great adventure. Still, with languid ease did I realize the delicate sound was not bells but the voices of the three otherworldly women. Amongst the foliage resting comfortably across the ground, their voices and the leaves rustled together in wafer light tandem; they were lanterns gathering the falling slivers of sun-splinter and readying to welcome the twilight.
Their lips parted, and whispering notes gently sailed outward to color the air. Their songs were the aurora floating forth and glowing in blissful harmony. I wanted to lift my camera and capture the moment and their ethereal grace for eternity, but something deeply innate gently told me not to. My arms remained at my sides.
Their hazy auras coupled with the dimming light made these warbling women of whimsy even more difficult to distinguish. Still, it seemed as though one of the figures turned her head to face me and offered a gracious smile but I couldn’t be sure. As the setting sun gave its closing bow and winked below the horizon, they too slipped beneath the veil and out of sight.
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