I went on a drive today.
The sky was grey and gloomy, and yellow leaves on almost-bare branches painted it, a little more staggered now than they'd been a two weeks ago.
The wind made them dance, along with the already-brown leaves on the ground, occasionally swirling up and around, as if wondering where to go from here.
Pumpkins smiled at me from some doorsteps; perhaps more than I was expecting in this pre-Christmas world we've entered. Their smiles were different now, though. Less enthusiastic, more melancholy, more knowing.
I could almost hear their thoughts, contemplating the season's end, just so happy to be noticed.
It is still autumn, after all.
Decorations lingered on some houses. Hanging ghouls plastered to trees by the on-and-off rain. Twelve-foot skeletons left standing alone, as their more easily packed up brethren have been gone since November 1st morn. Orange lights now shining like a beacon to no one at all.
It's hard to believe these are the same roads as they were in October. The same houses, the same settings.
This was all, not long ago at all, so alive with the promise of things to come. The hopeful, adventurous dream of a night where fear becomes something else, when weird isn't weird at all.
As the leaves dance, the pumpkins smile, and the leftover ghosts and ghouls billow in the wind, my heart almost leaps once more.
But it's heavy now.
Heavy with the wait of it all being over for another year.
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