Wednesday Scribblings, and we’re asked to consider and/or include the phrase “down in my bones”. I share a visit to Louisiana many years ago, and an experience that taught me the meaning of déjà vu! Submitted to Poets & Storytellers United. December 16, 2020
Oak Alley. The travel guide describes it as a grand example of an antebellum plantation. I stand spellbound, gazing down the alley of majestic ancient oaks leading to the bayou, from which visitors and supplies arrived. A soft breeze stirs wisps of Spanish moss on the trees, and I feel a chill. Deep down in my bones I know I’ve stood on this spot before. On this very spot. For an instant I seem to see young ladies in elaborate ball gowns and young gentlemen dressed in Confederate uniform grey. Only for an instant, then the image fades. I turn and join the tour group as we ascend the steps. The eerie feeling of familiarity stays with me as we tour the rooms of this relic of pre-Civil War days. All my life I’d been a skeptic. No more.