A gentleman came to visit me while I was sitting beneath a tree. I was in a meditative state listening to a hidden bird’s exquisite song and gazing down at the golden carpet of autumn leaves at my feet when I noticed a man standing next to me. He was a slender man wearing a dark derby hat and his best Sunday frayed dark suit. The man took off his derby and wiped sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief. Replacing his derby upon his head, he asked, “Excuse me, but do you know where I might find Wilma?”
Looking at the man, I surmised he was a spirit due both to his clothing and to the fact that he looked like an old black and white photograph on a beautiful, colorful autumn day. “She’s not here right now,” I answered, “but you can come back on Halloween night. Perhaps she will be here then.”
The gentleman again removed his derby and wiped the sweat from his brow with his white handkerchief, before stuffing it into his pants pocket. He seemed confused at my suggestion. “Thank you kindly,” he replied, before vanishing.
A gnome man whispered to me, “Poor man. He still thinks it is summer. That is when he died so many years ago.”
“Which is why he kept wiping the sweat off his brow,” a gnome woman added.
Patting my shoulder, the gnome man continued, “‘Tis the season, lad, when the veils between the living and the spirit world get awful thin.”
That being said, I almost expected Wilma to appear at any moment.
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