sweet dreams

I sang a lullaby to a friend today, went through all her rooms and locked all her doors, secured all her windows. Outside the mountains stood as sentinels and the lake lapped a languid rhythm at her shore.

I've been searching for ghosts in this hotel, hoping for the sounds of children running or to sense a spirit in a room. I thought the place would be haunted with all her years and that she would share that with me... but all I really feel is her quiet soul.

She'll be 97 years old this winter. 97 years of standing in snow, covering her 4th story windows and blowing over her roof. 97 years of visitor after visitor, coffee brewing in her basement, and the sun beating on her brown, wooden sides. 97 years of bridging civilization and the rest of our American wild.

I felt an deep honor to be her final checker, the last one to go deliberately through every room and be sure she is safe, closed down, tucked in and ready for a long rest.

Sweet dreams, Many Glacier and all your quiet ghosts.