Go outside… and listen. Listen to the bells of St. Ann’s toll 6 o’clock. Listen to the crows cry, the murder drawing closer to the warmth of the city lights. See the sun set in a purple glow, behind a hill filled with orange and yellow trees, their leaves cling desperately to their branches as the cold wind carries them away. Blowing and swirling, they crunch and swoosh under your feet as you walk along. The brisk air is filled with the smell of them- leaves, wood fire and earth.
A sliver of moon, a witch’s thumbnail, appears and disappears behind fast moving, dark-gray clouds that hang low in the sky. It’s four days until All Hallows Eve and the season seems to know it. I wait, ready for a witch to fly across the sky. But it’s too early yet, they won’t be out for a while.
So I sip my wine and take in the cold air, smell the leaves and sit by a wood burning fire. The bells ring and the crows cry as the sun sets the hills on fire. It is a witchy eve, an autumn eve.