As I write this, it's about 10:30 pm in Kansas City, on Nov. 2, the Dio de los Muertos. I went to the Nelson-Atkins museum for dinner with friends; there was a beautiful lobby display related to the feast. Afterwards, I came home and walked the dog through streets as quiet as a graveyard. (Well, as quiet as a graveyard on any other night; this is a busy one in some cemeteries.)
In the park, in the dark, something fluttered past us and caused the dog to strain at his leash. Some large nocturnal moth, or small spirit.
I thought I'd stay up a while. Perhaps I'll be visited by the shades of Mike Hailwood, or Joey, or Marco. In the meantime, if you can't sleep, I'll refer you to a story I wrote years ago. It was at this time of year and I was, in fact, searching for a ghost, of sorts...
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