Today Facebook reminded me where I was on this exact day three years ago. I was in Savannah, GA. I've been to Savannah many, many times. It's my home away from home, and if you know me, you'll likely recall me telling you that it's my "soulmate in a place." Because it is. It truly, truly is.
I resent that reminder, though. I was working away, thinking nothing of long vacations. A memory of my husband asking me, while we sat on a park bench, to close my eyes, "What do you see?"
Characters walking cobbled streets many years ago. A party. A fire. A tragedy.
And I wrote.
I want to be there again. Not working away on my computer or busying myself with house work. I want to be in the place that inspires me to meet strangers, both real and unreal. I want to search the city for stories and let dark corridors whisper to me their secrets.
I want to take more tours and walk at night, allowing the southern breeze to pierce my soul. I want the early morning's fog to creep into my life, filling every corner with history and mystery.
I want Savannah.
Last time I was there, I wrote this:
The city of the dead lies silently beneath,
like an unsung song underneath our feet
like a painting void of color
or an undeveloped photograph--
never fully seen--
like an instrument without a string,
an undocumented life screams.
I want to document all the characters that fill Savannah's streets. It's time for another vacation.