The Past Whispers

by Nancy Brister



On some misty morning, when the earth is hushed and still,
When the fog obscures the treetops and hides both lake and rill,
Go reverently and quietly, and listen for the sounds;
You'll see the past, and hear it, when the ghosts go on their rounds.

Ghosts don't come in sunlight, they don't come in blinding storm;
They gather in the silver light, when mist brings in the morn.
They move cautiously and slowly, to make the moment last,
Entertaining all who listen with whispers of the past.

They talk of things that used to be, as they move along their way,
And, all too soon, they disappear, as mist turns into day.
You can watch in silent wonder, as their lines begin to form;
You can hear them - if you listen - on some shrouded misty morn.


Years ago, I visited a Civil War battlefield with my parents.  It was an extremely cold
December day and not many other souls were braving the weather.  A park guide
took a special interest in us and guide us he did.  I don't believe we missed a monument
or he missed a moment of action in the re-telling of the tale.  Long before we were finished, I
was pretty sure I'd developed permanent frostbite damage.  But, even under the circumstances
and despite my young age, the guide's story and the way he brought it to life enthralled me.
The frosty air was still and not even a bird could be heard as a backdrop.  My mother
commented on the silence and how difficult it was to imagine such a battle in the
peaceful surroundings.  "Ah," the guide said, "when it's quiet, that's when you can
hear the past whispering to you."  I know exactly what he meant.