A bit of ghost hunting tonight! Although I'll be out and about in the city where activity can be iffy, it will be fun to usher folks down the dark streets and into a secret garden. There, you enter through an arbor heavy-laden with Confederate Jasmine into a space presided over by ancient oaks and blessed saints. The moon and stars strain their way through the leaves and down upon the tentative adventurers. Even the bravest shudder for a moment at the palpable stillness in that picture-perfect, eerie moment.
The oldest, original moment of European presence in America happened here. Half a century before Jamestown or Plymouth Rock. The weight of centuries bears down on the heady-sweet garden air, and a young girl quietly reaches for her father's hand; boys laugh nervously, retirees begin taking pictures.
"Wait a moment!" I say, "just... wait."
And it begins...
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