Wednesday 1 November 2017

Shapes

Could Hallowe'en be better suited to any time than this?
The nightness so foreboding and the morningness of mists;
the darkness clinging though the day comes riding through,
betraying short-lived shapes and glistenings on paths of shiny dew.

A newness hangs in waiting, there's closure in the air
and community communes in ways it seldom ever dares.
Lights shine, there's a settling, a temporary hold,
a path for nods and greetings before Winter takes control.

Two women shout and gesture at each other across the road:
The younger one looks busy, the older one looks old.
Plans shared, routes discussed, though they stay on their own sides,
maybe they'll meet later, maybe another night.

A window offers moments for exchanges rare and slight
and just as soon it closes, pulls the curtains, dims the lights.
The spell drains and reveals that all is as it was,
bittersweet and then relief that magic's life is short.

The children carve the days, the months and years come through,
to be betrayed by shapes and glistenings new;
the nightness so foreboding and the morningness of mists,
could any time be better suited to Hallowe'en than this?