Spirit Garden

Bok Tower Sanctuary had gained the reputation of having such natural beauty that many of the citizens of Lake Wales and surrounding areas made their wishes known that, upon death, they wanted to be cremated and have their ashes strewn amidst the gardens. Although discarding human remains on sanctuary property was prohibited for all except those of Mr. Bok himself, whose body was interred in a crypt just above the water line of the island upon which his famous carillon rose, family members would try to be as inconspicuous as possible strolling down the paths in their hour of grief, urn hidden beneath a picnic blanket or within a backpack, to deliver their loved one to their final destination. For some it was the serene privacy of the back trails, scattered over the moist undergrowth of ferns and moss. For others it was up high upon the hill, overlooking miles of flat Florida wetlands, while others requested to be scattered amidst the camellias of the winding North Walk.

So many human ashes fertilized the soil of Bok Tower Sanctuary that the place became crowded with the spirits of the departed. Most visitors were blind to the mistral passings across the trails in front of them, deaf to the discontented ghosts bickering over who claimed the best locations for their memorial benches scattered throughout the grounds. Benches levitated throughout the night, walked across the lawns, or were thrown into the middle of the pond, until the morning grounds crew arrived to sort out the mess. They blamed mysterious vandals, probably kids.

Not every visitor lacked the third eye with which to see these ghosts. Some discerned a curiously animated cloud of mist over the lawns, felt a cold brush of air aginst their bare arm, heard the plaintive wail of a grandmother whose ashes were scattered too close to the snakes sunning themselves by the water.

A particularly aggressive squirrel that accosted people walking along the trails was in fact spirited with the lingering soul of Quantanimus James, an accountant who had committed suicide after getting caught money laundering from the Lake Wales Pantheonic Temple in 1962. A ornery man in life makes for one cantankerous squirrel in the afterlife. The squirrel of Quantanimus guarded a gluttonous horde of nuts in the hull of a dead evergreen oak.

Other spirits made themselves known in more subtle ways: the perplexed expression of Uncle Roy in the bark of a tree; the blush of a dead bride in the bloom of Granada roses; the watchful eyes of a lone koi hovering at the surface of the reflecting pool, looking for her niece to come for a visit.

Watery splash photo by tony275.

One spirit was that of a young girl, only ten, who had died of leukemia. In her young life she had only time for one passion: dancing. She had wanted to be a ballerina. Now in her afterlife she haunted the surface of the pools in the early morning, turning the pond into her stage, dancing upon the surface, making ripples with her pirouettes.

And the two swans floating on the pond? Many fancied they were the ghosts of two dead lovers, but in truth the swans were nothing but swans, a pair of the only natural specimens moving about the spirit garden.

Blogfright

Battle of Britain Memorial 3 photo by ART NAHPRO.

I'm all seized up. I know I haven't posted in ages. I haven't written in ages, not even in my crap journal where I allow myself to type like mad for an hour without any pressure. I think about posting something here and I say, "I don't know what to write. It sounds like so much work." I get tight in the chest. Shallow breaths. An eel writhing in my stomach. Then tired, so tired. Maybe tomorrow.