I believe that my time ain't long / But I'm leavin' this mornin' / I believe I will go back home
The sun sat low and squat on the horizon, breaking through rows of clouds as we walked through one of the three potential grave sites of Robert Johnson.
I felt incredibly awkward being there. The silence of the place unnerved me. Mississippi unnerved me. I'm not really sure why, either. Just a few days previous I had had a terrifying experience at St. Louis Cemetery #1 in New Orleans and maybe I wasn't keen on being in another spooky place.
Could the land itself have a memory? What happened to Robert Johnson was horrifying. Poisoned to death for sleeping with another man's wife (as one story goes), he died in agony not far from this site on a former plantation. You can see the plantation house from the road.
I don't know anything about the area, but I'm guessing a great deal of trauma and horror occurred here.
Could that have been what I was feeling? Who knows. Maybe I'm just easily spooked...
You can read a much better account of what may or may not have happened over at Mother Jones.