SeaHeart

- Last night, Jenn and I went with Hugh and Jer (and two of Jer's awesome friends) to the live Rifftrax screening of House on Haunted Hill. It was so great, oh my. XD For every major holiday (and even for some none-major), they do live screenings at certain movie theaters across the country, riffing movies like they used to do in their old MST3K days. It is still brilliance--and, perhaps, even better now (and I'm one of the biggest MST3K fans alive!). If you ever have a chance to see a live screening, do it! It's totally worth it, wickedly hilarious and positively awesome. :) Last year, we saw a bunch of Christmas shorts live, and it was just as great. I'm hoping they do one for Yule again~!

- It's totally silly and cheesy, but one of our Halloween/Samhain traditions is a visit to Holiday Hollow, which we saved to do for this Halloween weekend. I'm so sad that they're closed tomorrow--the only day we could do it. ;-; What will Halloween be like without the great pumpkin quest?! (Jenn will probably be endlessly relieved--the show changes very little, year over year, and she's always like...yay?...when I'm like WE SHOULD GO THIS WEEKEND! :D)

- So, instead, we'll probably go to the Great Pumpkin Farm Pumpkin Festival tomorrow, before...

- Maddie's annual Halloween party! :) Maddie, Jenn and I are Three Witches this year...my sister is going to be Lady Gaga, with all that entails. XD Yes, there will be many pictures.

- This is what I'm dressed up as, for work today!



( A few more! There's a surprise under the hat! :D )

- (Can you tell this is my favorite holiday? Naaaaaaaaaah~ :P)

- Our house is decorated to the nines (you can see a few pictures here!). But, my favorite thing that I wanted to share was the window display at our local cloth-work store (they sell counted cross stitch and quilting supplies, and the ladies are AMAZING--as evidenced by this window display. :P). Here is the stuff nightmares are made of (he also has an evil twin!:



- Our Samhain celebration is all day Sunday--we're going to hike at Allegany State Park--one of the most haunted places in the region (I know I've talked about that place before here--it's one of my favorite parks in the world, and it's so very steeped in ancient Native American lore, stories and ghostly encounters. I love it with all my heart~), culminating with a feast at our house, and a beautiful ritual. I can't wait~ <3

- On Sunday, Samhain, is my eleventh anniversary of my dedication as a Witch. :) Oh, blessed Mother--thank You these years, most amazing. <3

- Whatever your plans this weekend, whatever celebrations or sacred or spooky things you'll do, whatever you may spell or conjure--may it be wonderful~ <3333 Happy Halloween! Blessed Samhain! <33333

Let me tell you an autumn story.

In the country, fall does not come in an instant--no season changes in a heartbeat. She comes slowly, dragging her long, fiery gown behind her. One night, it's warm, but not too warm. You wrap your long sweater about you, beneath a sickle moon, for when the wind blows, it's cold. Clouds scuttle across the sky, dodging stars, bright silver. You walk far out into the meadow with your dog, mindful of all the bunnies who would rather moonbathe themselves than be chased by a very fast Collie. Everything is bright, and all the cicadas sing, a symphony that melts with your heartbeat, the whispering leaves, the bright moonshine. You close your eyes, try to remember that moment forever.

The next night, it's colder. Only a few crickets play a melody, and the night is so dark it's as if there were never stars. The blackness is velvet, soothing, and in the center of the meadow the sky melts with the towering pine trees, and you hold out your hand before you, completely unable to see it. One cricket, then two, strike up a conversation. It's cold, you're barefoot, and you shiver--the dew is freezing against your skin.

The next night, there is silence. Pure, frozen silence. You're wearing a coat, and in the moonlight, you can see your breath. There are no clouds, just the galaxy reaching overhead, a broad band of stars that looks milk-white against the burnished heavens. The moon hangs low in the horizon, lazy. The grass crunches beneath your boots. The husks of the sunflowers dangle mournfully along the fence of the garden, and you worry about your last vegetables, wondering how long you dare before you take in the squash. In these last, ripening moments, you could lose everything to a hard frost if you wait too long--but if you don't wait long enough, it won't be what it could have been. This is what separates a gardener from someone who gardens, and you think about that for a moment, laugh, shake your head. It was something your grandmother said, and you wonder if it's true about you. You've always harvested at the perfect moment--you've just always known when. It might be genetic, it might be magic, it might be dumb luck. You look up at the moon, wrap the shawl tighter about your shoulders, breathing in the chill air, the scent of colored leaf and pine. It's all so crystalline, so clear, so wonderful. The dog chases a bunny who outpaces him easily, and you call him back. He bounds over, leans against your leg, staring up at the same moon, too. It's a heavenly communion for half a moment--a perfect autumn night.

On all these nights, you turn to go back in, and look at your cottage, nestled beneath the moonshine or that dark sky. The lights glow cozily, the cobalt walls reflecting the glow of candle or lampshade. There will be warm tea, waiting for you, and a wife who hugs you, sleepily, giving you the sweetest, softest, best goodnight kiss.

And, on nights like these, you stand, for a moment, basking in the moonglow, in that perfect moment. You have so very much to be grateful for, your heart can't contain it.

So you pray, thanking the Lady for these years, most amazing.

And you go inside.

in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman

whistles far and wee

and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring

when the world is puddle-wonderful

the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing

from hop-scotch and jump-rope and

it's
spring
and
the

goat-footed

balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee

~ e.e. cummings