can you hear me now?

speaking to the dead through the wind phone at Squaxin Park

All photos were taken by yours truly in Squaxin Park, Washington. A couple photos were adjusted slightly to remove identifying information, out of respect for grieving visitors.

Twilight comes on fast in these woods. I’ve been walking in circles, searching. Fast approaching nightfall not nearly as eerie as the lonely idling truck somewhere nearby.

I’m driving down to Portland for the Oregon Ghost Conference, and I pull off just outside Olympia, hoping to have a word.

You never call me any more. I’m tired of waiting.

All the boys wanted to be with you, all the girls wanted to be you. I was the quiet one alone on the bleachers, watching you work. We didn’t get each other, but we knew each other. You sometimes gave me the time of day. I never wanted it to end.

Spiky chestnuts press into my shoes. Wind rustles all around me. Creatures welcome me along the trails, warm and inviting. They escort me to our secret spot, leading me to you.

We don’t get to talk anymore. I feel nervous apprehension. I reach the threshold, and the world goes silent. The creatures scurry away, trees hold their breath. I am all alone and maybe not alone. The wind picks up with fury.

He braved the dark corner to ask me to dance. Pathetic little wallflower. I patted the seat next to me instead. “Look at her.” We both stared. We both wanted this dance, just not with each other.

Some people are destined for greatness. Others are destined to watch. You never treated me any different. You were always kind.

Maybe you will pick up when I call. Stranger things have happened.

I walk further through the quiet, through the woods, signs telling me not to leave random trinkets. I pause respectfully, waiting my turn.

Maybe you won’t be there. You’ll leave me hanging, feeling foolish, as you have so many times before. Maybe your voice will echo from beyond the grave, driving me mad. Maybe you’ll laugh, or cry. Or shout in frustration.

Maybe you’ll whisper, sighing deep in my ear, huffing the gale. Whistles stifled by cracking branches. Howls sink into hissing. So faintly I won’t know where your gasping stalls and the gusts begin.

Would you answer my call?

Slowly, tentatively, I pick up the phone.

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The Wind Phone is a place you can speak to the dead. These mysterious phone booths appear in forests, parks, cemeteries, and unexpected street corners - a quiet place to reach out and listen. Read the story of the original Wind Phone in Japan and find one near you on the Wind Phone map.