The lonely ghost sat on a park bench next to the duck pond. It was early October and leaves wafted down like lazy confetti from the trees. There was a school of small fish patrolling near the surface of the water, occasionally drawing a tiny wake. Their synchronicity was a comfort, that there could be such order and unconscious agreement among so many tiny individuals. It suggested a plan and purpose to existence, that all was not fog and confusion. Unfortunately, this warm meditation was halted by a maniacal barking.  

     If there could only be two truths known in this world, they would be that 1) Ghosts do not enjoy the company of dogs, and 2) Dogs go absolutely apeshit when they sense the presence of a ghost. This particular nitwit strained at the end of its leash, sniffing and growling, and tried to get as close as possible. The middle-aged man at the other end of the leash continued along the edge of the pond without breaking stride and dragged his recalcitrant pet into the distance. Reverie broken, the lonely ghost looked at the shedding trees, knowing what had befallen him awaited every being, be it mongrel or minnow or marigold. Even the sun and stars were doomed.  

     A young woman walked past the bench to the edge of the water. She had apparently been running and now tentatively raised one foot at a time behind her. After gazing at the water for some minutes, she shook the tension out of her hands and walked back to the bench. Turning around, she sat down inside the ghost and they watched the falling leaves and migrating birds. It felt good to be inhabited again, and he imagined her heart, beating bright red and full of promise.