My spooky yard

As everyone in my family knows, I have a spooky yard, especially around Halloween.  Creepy crawlies climb up your spine, cold shivers tingle every nerve and a scream is only a short breath away. So I’ll try to explain what happens in the yard when that special time of year draws near.

The yard transforms from endless green grasses, bright red dancing Geraniums and golden Marigolds - whose blossoms shelter seeds from the ravages of winter - to the creeping cold death that must end the life of soft ruffled leaves and gentle pansies.  The Morning Glories close their blooms for good, the green vines becoming stiff and brown, their clinging tendrils swinging in the breeze to grasp at whatever passes. Great swaying trees are bare when their leaves perish and fall, the branches raw and exposed. The friendly chirping birds take flight and leave in their stead, flocks of Ravens, ravenous for food or treasure.  The sky, as far as you can see, is black, with only tiny shining eyes that wink in fear.  It sets the stage for Halloween in my yard.

When the silver moon shines its magic metallic light upon the black bare branches of leafless trees, the ghostly spirits appear and begin their dance. Their feet crunch against the dried, boneless foliage lying prone across the spiky shoots of frozen grasses, while their voices croon among the abundant, abandoned nests of hornets, whose white corpses rest deep inside their self-built coffins. Wispy strings of fog tangle themselves together to kiss the ghosts and caress their translucent faces hidden in shadow, as they twirl across the endless black sage covering the ice cold ground. If you ask, “Who goes there?” you will hear the whisper of names reaching out from all directions, their need to speak, to be heard, to touch you, insatiable, unrequited and forlorn.  Best to turn around, run as fast as you can, or risk being bumped by a bony hand, or rattled by a skeletal frame, until you are lost and all alone in the forest of the forsaken.

©2012 Linda Gatewood