Crow Moon Rising

On the night of the crow moon, I came out after sunset. It was later than expected and there were eerie, red-rimmed clouds in the west.

As I stepped onto the lawn, a small dark shape streaked past, low to the ground. Cat, rabbit, fox? It seemed the wrong size to be any of these. I looked back only to see it dissolve into nothing. Strange.

My teenage son comes up the path and says, mother, there's some odd stuff happening out here. Like what, I ask. He says, well there's owls hooting in the trees, and weird creaking sounds, and a rock just came out of nowhere and hit me on the shoulder.

He showed me the rock. It was light, but big as the palm of his hand. I said, well, squirrels will pelt people with objects, maybe owls do, too. I didn't mention the dissolving dark shape - no reason to add to any flights of fancy.

I sat down near the oleanders to watch the rising moon. On the road I saw someone walking, though in the blue dusk I could see little more than a man-shape. I peered into the road, wondering if it was someone I knew, but as I looked it also dissolved into nothing.

Two dissolving shadows, I noted privately. Uh-huh. You should never trust your eyes at twilight, it's notorious for playing tricks. The eerie sky and night noises might be causing our imaginations to play up. Of course. But when you're a born witch (or a viewer of Twin Peaks) you know that owls, or anything else for that matter, may not be what they seem.

I didn't feel anything was too awry, though, nothing I couldn't handle, so I went back to watching the moon.

Teen son sat down beside me to watch, too. The crow moon rose, in a lovely silvery light.

We sat and talked about cheerful things to dispel any unease. I took some photos. It really was a nice night, breezy and warm. Suddenly, son jumped up. He said, mother, come in the house with me now, please.  I asked, what's wrong. and son says, mother, come in the house with me now.

Indoors, he said he'd felt something cold touch the back of his neck and a female voice had spoken right into his ear, "Go back inside."

He was really spooked, but I told him there's no reason to worry, no reason to assume it was anything nasty. Maybe it was just nerves, maybe it was his intuition that he happened to perceive as a voice. Of course, if your gut - one way or another - is telling you to get the heck out of Dodge, then it's generally the wise thing to do.

And anyway if something sees fit to pelt you with rocks, whether it's squirrels or Sasquatch or vengeful revenants, it's always best to move along.

I felt a bit bad, though. I should have been more alert. My mistake was in thinking I could dispel anything by distracting with cheerful talk. All I did was distract myself.

Later that night, when there were no more sinister shadows or a sense of unease, what my dad always called a buttermilk sky appeared.

We went out and lay on the ground to look up at it while the cats studied us, wondering what the silly humans were up to. All was at peace now. The luminous sky had become a shelter, and all was well as the crow moon shone through the clouds.

Ritual Of The Black Snake

I've been so slow about blogging...fatigue again...but I did want to post this before July is entirely over.

On the fourth, we went out to buy fireworks from the stand at the edge of town. We bought a small collection of sparkly whizzy things for the older boys, but I also bought a handful of black snakes. Partly this was so the youngest would have something non-noisy to enjoy, but also because I have fond memories of them myself. They were maybe 12 for a dollar, anyway.

Early in the evening, about 7 0'clock, I snuck outside to light one by myself. I suppose my inner child wanted a little privacy, the secret glee of creating fire and smoke. I put it down on the driveway, lit the punk stick and lit the black snake. 

As I was kneeling over the flames watching the snake unfurl, the neighbors drove by. So much for privacy. But the looks on their faces was priceless. They clearly thought I must be partaking of a strange and arcane ritual there on the dusty gravel. They looked intrigued and slightly alarmed at the same time. 

But the funny thing was, I had begun to feel the same way myself. It was unexpected, but I swear I suddenly felt a Presence. It was a friendly Presence, but a Presence (disembodied, non-corporeal, possibly holy) nonetheless.

Maybe this kind of thing has happened to you, maybe it hasn't, but in this case, it was special kind of coziness, a tranquility in the evening air. It was what they call the golden hour, so maybe this helped, but the world around me took on a luminescence, and I was sure I was no longer alone. 

After the black snake had burnt itself out, I stuck the end of the punk stick in the gravel and watched it glow. The feeling stayed with me for a while. I thought about the fire deities and elemental spirits throughout many ages and cultures. I wondered if one of them had kindly paid me a visit. 

When it was over, I put out the smoldering stick and went to enjoy the holiday with the rest of the family. It was nice to see them having such fun. But for me, that small moment in the driveway is so far my favorite memory of the Summer. 

A little transcendence will liven up any holiday.

Note: I seriously doubt it was fumes from the firework causing me to hallucinate or anything like that, as we used up the rest of the black snakes without any additional weirdness.

Spooky Scary Skeletons

It's late October, the year is turning, the weather is cooling and leaves are beginning to fall. Along the streets, signs of Halloween appear. In the shops, ghostly figures gather.

There are a lot of things to do, like planning hayrides and carving pumpkins. The little one wants to be a crow this year, so there's a complicated costume to make. But for me, personally, the most important thing about Halloween isn't dressing up or trick or treat, though naturally this is great fun. It's a spiritual night, the time I feel closest to my ancestors and loved ones who have passed on. They have been known to drop by at any old time of the year, but Halloween is special. The air fairly crackles with it.

My favorite Halloween memories are not of anything dramatic, but small moments infused with an ineffable...something.

The school Fall festivals and playing games under the full moon. Baking pumpkin pie.Crossing the bridge above the creek and hearing the leaves rustle ominously. And then there is my very favorite memory, the time I saw the last trick-or-treater of the night - a young girl dressed as a witch - jump the wrought iron fence on the corner. She could have walked around it, but she jumped instead, and I was so glad. She was about 11, and I knew, with a certain melancholy, that her fence-jumping days would soon be over. For that moment though, she was truly a little witch.
 
And as always, there is the sense that spirits are close at hand.

After midnight, when everyone has gone home, it's time to leave offerings for the dead. There is candy, fruit, and (when I can manage) bread baked in the shape of little men. Scoff all you want, but when you have guests, you should always show them hospitality. Most times the weather is warm, but sometimes cold wind whips around my ankles as I make my rounds. Regardless, it must be done, because this is the essence of it all, the point of connection between the living and the dead.

In our family, we often joke that Halloween is a more important holiday than Thanksgiving or Christmas, our equivalent, and we'll be like the family in the Ray Bradbury story, Homecoming. Perhaps this will be the day everyone will come for the holidays every year, fluttering home like bats through the moonlight.

It's not a bad idea. They know we'll always leave a light on for them.