All Hallows’ Eve at the Edge of the Woods
written by: Wendy Bell
Last of October, the heavens were beclouded.
All hallows’ eve had tripped time, grasping at eternity
while the moon turned argent, sighed, and fretted.
In descending twilight, drawn to the changing
shapes and shadows, I walked by the woods’ edge.
As I looked up at the celestial lamp that lit the darkening sky,
a mote of evening dust settled in my eye.
The air smelled eerily dank with the scent
of tree lichen and stone moss, but I remained.
Mesmerized, I listened to the voices of night’s serenade
orchestrated by those who claimed ownership —
the coyote, screech owl, and night jar.
I was merely the evening’s intruder.
Abruptly, the wind rose and plaintively sobbed
as it darted amongst autumn’s scarlet leafed trees.
The sound it rendered called to mind a small child’s pleas.
A sudden stasis and quiet interrupted this noisome moment.
Something tapped my shoulder —perhaps only a twig.
I shifted uneasily and turned with a start.
It was then I heard the sound of silence depart.
But a raven-like voice swooped down, claws and beak wide.
Were goblins or spirits of a sort about?
My mind shrugged it off and pulled away from its clutch.
Its powers were defied, though I still felt its touch.
A shivering chill rankled all of my bones
when I heard a reverberation of hooves
beating stridently hard on the moist earth,
while laughter pealed like bells given to mirth.
The moon grumbled and glowered
as it shook off layers of vaporous veils
and read aloud from a list of scare-me tales.
It was then I decided I had long enough abided,
and I left the woods to the creatures of the dark.
Before the night and the hours unraveled,
I sought city lights and a road better traveled.
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:
Even for those who do not believe in spirits, sprits, or goblins, one may be in situations where there is a feeling of another kind of presence.
- All Hallows’ Eve at the Edge of the Woods - October 31, 2023
