October Fest

Homes so recently abandoned for Sunday swims and picnics have become indoor respites from the restless chill of change. Secure, still days have vanished, with hazy meadows humming. Fireflies have met their end, replaced with jack-o'-lanterns. Now forewarning breezes, stealthy, crisp, and vibrant, pierce preoccupations, uncovering reckless impulses. Now uncanny images, voices of chance and charm, bide their ghostly time to tease mortals hitherto content. Darts and dashes of circumstance, figures of flitting moments, are creatures mysteriously born, skipping towards certain death. So what, if the end is approaching; the witches' brew is bubbling-- the whispers of all moans and laughs, the collage of dreams and desires. Now is the ecstasy of flinging one's fate to the unrefined choir-- the discordant sounds and initiatives of many spirits and springs. Grinning gourds and goblins bless the annual surprise-- this primal burst of forces that refuse once more to be quenched.