Spirit Soiree

The sunset's autumnal grace of gold, in the October gloaming, a brisk breeze with wending fingers of mist encircling the cold gray tombstones cracked. Of a peaceful atmosphere, some leafy graves decorated with orange and yellow mums. As the crows make their last caws of the day, a spirit soiree begins. They no longer have the earthy life in them, of being concerned about dinner parties and who sits where, of how a company's stock is doing, or what the neighbors are up to.. They gather in their freeing translucence, a bonding of the departed, in the time of year when they're most expected, by those who are in flesh and warm blood, who still have to brush their teeth and impress their boss, as they hope for a glimpse of phantoms on their cellphone cameras, to appear as if their curious living visitors willed it, except the ghosts were mingling on their own. They commune in a kinship, of which the breathing do not understand. Spectral children play on the swings in a small park bordering the cemetery. A spirit soiree, we're not actually invited, yet, they tolerate us alright, as we quietly stroll through with our dogs, still thinking of both mundane and worrisome thoughts as the moonrise peaks on the treetops. ~ ,