There are ghosts in Detroit City. They are tall, abandoned buildings made of brick and stone. Broken windows form the blind eyes of Detroit's ghosts. Frozen in time and linked forever to the automobile's fading golden age, they stand strangely still.
In another era, red brick homes were filled with families, streets teemed with life. Now, countless neighborhoods of these same houses stand boarded and silent. In an attempt to cleanse its soul, the great city of the automobile expands ever outward, leaving a once loudly beating heart sadly stifled.
Some landmarks I remembered still stood. Newer landmarks had replaced others that had been destroyed. Places from my childhood were no longer part of the skyline. Occasional blocks of restored architecture stood out here and there among the rubble like diamonds in the dark.
The ghosts of Detroit were not unkind. Captured in the golden slivers of a sunset, their windowless eyes reflected cautious optimism. I shared their hope. One day, Detroit would rise again. I promised to return.
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