Thursday, November 1, 2007
Jack o'lanterns are beautiful things, rich in the enigma of spirits and their human supplicants. S carved the big one puking the small one. I carved the rest. When I parked the truck and stealthily placed the lanterns in public places and lit them, I felt a tiny bit of that primeval flirtation with the spirit world of ages past. I felt it as I put on my makeup for the Grim Reaper costume, and then when I climbed the low rock wall next to the cemetary. Creeping near the fence, beyond which ran Route One, I knelt and lit the candle, placed the lantern, and stole away. I glanced briefly up at the moon in the cloudy, windy sky. I could imagine the excitement of the spirit festival of centuries past, when people dressed the part of the demons they feared, partaking illicitly of their power by imitating. Except that here I was a solitary figure, not part of a festive, mischief-making, lascivious mass.