In the Space Between Seasons

Halloween, 31 October 2024

The maple leaves turn to copper pennies
dropping their loose change onto autumn lawns
while jack-o'-lanterns wink from darkened porches,
their orange grins knowing something we don't.
.
This is the evening when summer finally admits defeat,
backing away from winter's approaching footsteps
as children become witches, ghosts, and superheroes,
their laughter echoing through streets
lined with trees wearing their final golden costumes.
.
I watch from my window as twilight
paints the sky in watercolor purples,
thinking how October 31st is really just
a door between two worlds:
the warm memory of September
and November's sharp promise.
.
The wind picks up candy wrappers
like confetti from a celebration
no one planned but everyone attended,
while dried leaves scratch secret messages
across driveways and sidewalks,
telling stories about the magic
that happens in between—
.
When the veil is thin,
when plastic skeletons dance on front lawns,
when paper ghosts bob from tree branches
like strange fruit ripening in reverse,
when children's footsteps sound like falling acorns
on welcoming porches,
and every shadow holds
the possibility of wonder.
.
This is the night when in-between
becomes a place of its own,
not summer, not winter,
but something altogether more enchanting—
a pocket of time where monsters
smile benevolently from doorways
and magic sprinkles itself
like sugar on the tongue
of an ordinary Thursday
turned extraordinary.

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