It is windy tonight, trick-or-treaters come and go.
The sun has just set and the wind is high – sending flocks of leaves flying like birds from fiery colored trees.
Gradually the form, the bones, of the trees become visible, no longer lost in summer finery. Trunks and branches more flexible against the wind than one might think.
Samhain is gate and a gateway to the Celtic New Year. Tonight, the magnificence of the collaboration between wind and tree is sweeping, and the years run together in the faces of the children who crowd the porch for treats—so like my own children years ago.
And the years, like the leaves, fall and blow away, gone for another season, a lifetime.
Darkness now, the streets are quiet. Trees swaying, dark silhouettes turning against a fully night sky. The ambiguity of eternity. Things we have known, things we forget, and things we hope to forget. Happy New Year.
Shouldn't...but Do 