The light begins to sneak away as the night
like a black cat comes prowling.
The door eases open.
Leaves like waves of flame rush in,
blood red and rich gold.
They clatter like bones
over the revelers draped
in an arrogant stupor.
Textured Shadows enter and dance
like intimate whispers among them.
The revelers stir, disoriented and unsure
of the dreams that haunt them.
The Shadows soothe them
with furtive caresses.
Suddenly, the moonlight punches holes
in the air above them.
The Shadows grab the folds of light and
cover themselves as with shining shrouds.
Bonfires erupt
and roar upwards in a shout of homecoming,
“It is the Witches! It is the Witches!”
They dance, cackling, arms raised, glowing
like specters.
The revelers awake startled
and angry in their fright.
And raise their fists, stumbling and screaming.
The Witches simply laugh.
Sparks begin to fly
burning holes in the revelers’ arrogance
until they cower together, shaking and shocked.
The witches’ vengeance quickly recedes.
A rich and decadent silence descends
as the witches join hands.
It is Homecoming.
A circle forms, without beginning and without end.
Power surges and electric blue lines flow like veins
all that is
all that was
all that promises to be.
It is the Season of the Witch!
At last!
So mote it be.