Ghosts

The first frost etched the glass doors as I looked out on the river. The moonlight dappled the water, and I saw in it the footprints of ghosts. The spirits of the First People were there, a throng moving steadily north. One ghost, a young woman, was lost and confused, casting around, now walking on the water, now stumbling insubstantial through the dying marsh grass. I stepped back aside quickly, lest she look up and see me.