Sitting in the now dark. As the rain fails dismally downward.
The squeals of delighted and mischievous children are gone.
I sit still in vigil on the porch for the last straggler who braves the elements to claim chocolate boon.
The wind is tossing the treetops. Terrier like lashing back and forth denuding the crowns of their gold and crimson glories.
Heavy hearted I wait. Holding tight the losses of loves and life of family and friends who are family.
It is fitting this dampness and dreary dark. The moaning of branches that are bending but haven't broken.
The sad cauldron of goodies for small ghouls is still mostly full. Our revelers numbered more than last year yet only totaled eleven souls.
What to do with the riches? A full pot of spiced cider, heated and blessed to warm the numb fingers of the adults who braved our mountain.
They come each year for their treat as much for the spectacle that our home is every year.
I love this night.
As children we had to go far from home to haunt the suburbs. The farms on our road were too far apart to walk.
So through hostile and unknown plans we trudged pillow cases in hand. Hoping for treats and clever tricks.
Daring each other when we got home to scale the pastures in the dark to play blind man's bluff.
But always the wind played a melancholy air.
So trudge on and gather treats. Brave young lads & lasses Souling in the darkness.
Stop on over. I sit like a crone, rocking on the porch. A cauldron of full sized chocolates. A vat of spiced brew awaits.
We can sit and enjoy the symphony of death. The chorus of the wind and rain to soothe and numb any loss and heartache.
Dance with me this Hallows Eve.