Afternoon Ghost

Looking from above, I'd imagine the four lanes of Highway17 through the low country of South Carolina look somewhat like two old grey water mocassins, laying side by side, warming in the late afternoon sun.

Speeding between the tall swaying loblolly pines and the live oaks drooping with Spanish moss, we ventured up this stretch of highway north of Charles Town approaching Awendaw, when low and behold, I spotted a ghost in broad daylight. White and massive, lurking behind two long vacated, boarded-up block buildings, I caught just a fleeting glimpse as we crossed Cooter Creek.

At the first available spot, I turned the car around and headed back south. After a second U-ey, I pulled off the road, climbed out, camera in hand, with the goal of not getting shot trespassing on some fella's property. Leaving the car locked, with Lamya within, I ventured down the narrow path between the two structures, minding my footing in the high grass, as copperheads and mocassins do reside in these parts.

Stepping from behind the buildings, there she was, in all her glory, resting in the waste-high reeds, pitched on her starboard side. Oh, the tales that were told within the hull of this old beauty. The recollections of Hurricane Hazel and her more recent cousins, Hugo and Floyd. The lives' found and lost. The bounty caught and the one's that got away. A lifetime of stories, that I, quite possibly will never hear. But, at least she's at rest above the tide instead of below, for a casual visitor like me, to stumble upon and dream about the stories yet untold.