On this Solstice Eve, darkness drips through the bare branches of ancient trees. The moon hangs low, a thin crescent, barely there.
The last thoughts of the departed are etched on stone tomes; loving epitaphs, names, dates.
Can you hear them? The souls who linger here whisper in the stillness, “Remember me.”
(I took the photo above during a Haunted Savannah tour a few summers ago. The air was electric and thick with souls longing for life.)