Thirty-year old photo of my driveway in the fog at night when I lived on Curtis Street in Lake Geneva.
A silhouette of trees were visible against the night sky. I watched their actively swaying branches from my bedroom window. The house would sigh and creak and the windows rattled unceasingly.
Tonight the spirits were active. I felt energized and ion-charged. I was swept in my imagination to a grassy knoll, feeling the wind untie my hair. Anticipation, mixed with a strange sense of foreboding, excited me and sharpened my senses.
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I don’t know precisely if this belongs in the The Story of Jasmine narrative, but it was among the notes I found. I include it because it sets a tone of where I was in my head space at the time … imaginative, moody and poetic. As a 20-something wisp of a thing, I was open to the unseen, the strange, and the mystical. In this regard, not much has changed. 😉