Doorbell chimes out of silent depths to toll that The time of the past and dead has arrived, Dry leaves rattle the imagination like knocking bones. In the night’s blackest descent Ancient memory fires bright Samhain blazes to rise on elder hilltop ridges Under the silver moon-clouds drifting like lost souls Small bundled goblins skip house to house: Rewards flow freely into clutched treasure bags. The premise of an innocent challenge The promise of a treat The freedom of the endless mind to wander To be a different thing than you are, Hero-large or cartoon small, warted or royally beautiful, To stick out your tongue at the long dead That don’t leave but watch from the edge Where the shadow grows Until the last porch light is turned off

Then the shadow moves And peers in the glazed windows Before rising back to the darkening orb. Inside our bleak houses The doorbell now silent, The candles are lit to echo the past fires. Inside where we safely sit Unaware of the lurker’s approaching edge We chew an orange pumpkin candy and smile.

The Jotter 10-31-2010

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