There is a time of year so the myths and legends say, when all may be not what it seems.
Early risers may catch an eerie mist hanging, shifting in the weak morning sun –is this the inter-world veil the stories tell of?
Leaves blaze in golden hues, and wither and fall as if shaken from the branch by an unseen hand. Magical looking toadstools spring up across the woodland floor.
Last evening dog walk; Rover whines, unnerved by a threat unperceived. Rooks, far from their treetop citadels, wheel above the open fields against a pale sky, swirling like enchanted coal dust.
Trick-or-treaters and costume-wearers will all come a-calling, excited by the thrill of pumpkin carving and caterwauling. They wear masks that once disguised those who wished to hide their face, from any who may step through the veil on this thinnest of nights. They seek to create a thrill and a scare to distract them from the sixth-sense, the urge to turn and to look when there’s no one there.
A creak on the stair, a tap on the door, a candle flame gutters and dust-lights dance in the draft of air. Pull up an empty chair; lay an extra place at the table. Out the corner of your eye you catch a flicker of movement in the old photo on the wall.
Now the harvest is done, the growing season has completed its course, and the seeds are set for the birth of the New Year, I wish you all a safe and mysterious All Hallows Eve.