The most amazing thing happened to me, on a Saturday afternoon.
The date was August 30th, just two days before Labor Day; the start of September, and, thankfully, the unofficial (but official, in my book) end of summer.
I wound up at a local toy shop, coming away with some tiny plushies. (Two of them Christmas themed, ironically, as I am working toward finding the magic in all things once more.) As I exited the store, something caught my eye beyond the fence leading to the next residential street.
A very tall pumpkin man seemed to be walking toward a house. My mind snapped back to when I was six years old, the very first time the Great Pumpkin came to visit me. How I'd heard him in the night, a candle rattling around in his head as he did his work, ensuring the happiest of Halloweens for the truest of believers. How special it felt to know I was one of his Chosen.
I'd always hoped to thank him one day.
I quietly tiptoed around the fence, out into the narrow street. The pumpkin man, the possible Great Pumpkin himself, didn't seem to notice me, and soon I saw why.
The yard before him was heavily decorated, tombstones and a groundbreaker pumpkin out awaiting trick-or-treaters while the sun still beat down. Dedication, and a true, sincere passion for Halloween, had clearly brought him here. A legend come to life before my eyes.
I realized, a moment later, that he was deep in conversation with an equally tall skeleton. Whispers in the wind brought their words back to me.
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