Mixed in with the scent of woodsmoke, there are wisps of magic in the air.
There is something eerie and mysterious and fun, hiding in the bushes and, along the leaf littered street.
Whispered by the bed sheet ghosts and garbage bag witches, the scarecrows made from out grown overalls and Dad's old flannel shirt, who's silent. plastic, pumpkin grin speaks volumes. Those long awaited nights are here. Going door to door, getting treats, wearing costumes, being outrageous, mocking the cold and dark. looking for shooting stars, out past bedtime. and listening for owls.
Eyes straining to see what is in the darkness, beyond the circle of the streetlights. All in good fun scaring each other into giggles and silliness, Walking past the "haunted house" or through the little woods to the houses where the best candy is handed out. Talking loudly, so that no one can hear the owl or the rustling ofthe mice in dry leaves. A few boys who think they are much too old to "trick or treat" whistling past the cemetery on their way to some sort of mischief, whilst everyone else trudges home with their bag of treasure. And as the porch lights go out one by one the walk gets longer and quieter, the sky grows darker. The carved pumpkins with their candles burning down to stubs cast an uncertain light, through eyes that have seen more than they can retell, for who knows what a Jack-o-lantern might do, or might see.
At last reaching your own house, laden with goodies and may-be just a little glad to be indoors, the nights chill and mysteries outside. Masks off and face paint scrubbed away, one last look out the window, just in case there is anything to see.
