How the cold creeps as the fire dies at length,
–from, “Storm Fear” by Robert Frost
The fire roared as we raised our glasses and toasted to delicious food and good company at this, our first Samhain gathering in two years. As all had been vaccinated and the room was of fair size, no masks were needed against plague. We were each free to enjoy each others’ smiles, a priceless gift. By the end of the evening, it was not just heavy coats, hats, scarves, and gloves that warmed the travelers as they set out upon their journeys home through the frosted moonless night.
I stoked the fire, then curled up with the cats and a blanket on the couch and nodded off into a dreamless sleep. Awakened by a loud scratching at the window that somehow didn’t wake the cats, I noticed the embers of the fire were almost out. Cold iced my nose as I pushed the blanket aside and went to the window. Opening the blinds I was gripped when white instead of night, with veins as black as death, greeted my sight – veins scratching across the window.
Spirits still hungry
gather and wait until fire
dies to eat dessert.
I actually love this image and think it’s beautiful, but I enlisted it for a dark purpose today.
Frank J. Tassone is today’s host of dVerse’ Haibun Monday. Frank says:
…Small wonder, then, that the Celts believed this time of year to be the one where the veil between living and dead was at its thinnest. Samhain, their celebration of the new year, was one where they placated their departed with feasts in halls that remained locked until dawn…
Write a haibun that alludes to fear.