ghosts

The back porch looked out into a field of cattle corn, and as I sipped my morning coffee, I caught a glimpse of a civil war soldier fighting his way through this field. It had been a while since I saw him last, unlike mine, his story never changed. He fought for the confederacy, found great opposition, and a bullet with his name on it. It had plunged into his side and caused enough damage to make any man drop to his knees. But the rushing adrenaline kept him motivated to raise his rifled-musket and to repay the enemy the favor. He was devoted to keep the old ways old. This soldier remained oblivious to a changed world where the south had buckled down to the north, where slavery was abolished, and where democracy was restored to its intended purpose. Tennessee had moved on but had left its ghosts behind.... Read More