I’m waiting for the sun to rise. A candle flickering on the table before me, a cigarette burning in my fingers. The air is crisp and bracing and words are being elusive, so I will unbuckle the ol’ subconscious and allow it free range. Wind is bothering the leaves, and they hiss in protest. Scuddy gray clouds promise to steal the October sunshine, keeping that particular autumn gold all to themselves.
I find myself without the usual energy that I have at this time of year, and for today in particular. I have no theory as to why, no culprit at which to point. All that I do know is that I am letting my babies sleep, the innocent slumber of childhood that escaped me long ago. The ghosts and pumpkins will be out in full force later, perhaps their youthful spirits will be contagious…
My usual array of my past funeral-related Halloween experiences ring hollow. Disembodied voices calling my name late at night when I was “alone” and closing up the funeral home, the floorboard creaks of footsteps upstairs while I, the sole occupant, was downstairs, mysterious “employees” ignoring the doorknocks of the public at the empty funeral home entrance; none of these stir the usual delicious magic that they ordinarily summon.
I am the Jack-O-Lantern this year, empty and cold, awaiting a candle stub and flame to bring me to life.
Who can help me find the matches?