To celebrate my middle age
My childhood friends had come around
And so, as birthdays tend to go,
We painted up the town.
Each round by overlapping round
We drank our fill, we smoked and talked
At closing time, I left my keys,
Insisting that I walk.
That’s how on Hallow’s Eve, I joined
The path I’d followed since my youth
And everything I tell you next
I promise is the truth.
Across the field, past Morgan’s Dam
I walked that long-familiar trail;
The leaves announced my footsteps as
The moon sat full and pale.
But when I reached the final ridge,
The frosted trees and branches shook.
From that point on, the air grew strange
With every step I took.
I didn't recognize the trail—
The stones were clean and well-maintained,
Except they pointed me away
From where they once had lain.
And as they turned, the trees spread large
As ferns shot broadly, shoulder-high;
The smallest leaves could span my palm,
And then there was the sky:
Behind me, night had fully passed
But up ahead, a slow release
Of morning light came poking in—
Which wasn't from the east.
My every step would force a change:
The forest grew, the path would tighten—
Slow degrees, and night would fade
When all ahead would lighten.
Distance came to distance, and
Eventually the flowers, ferns and trees
Stopped growing, and a mid-day light
Now poured between the eaves.
I walked some more. A tilted light
Projected weakly through the ferns
Then up ahead, a purple tinge
Meant evening had returned.
The sky was turning indigo
Above a well-protected grove.
Between the trees, the moon turned new,
Beyond me lay a cove:
It sat together with a stream
Whose shoreline held no overgrowth;
It shared a beach, pristine and pale—
She perched above them both:
A woman on a beech-tree branch
That spanned impossibly across the shore;
She swayed and rocked it gracefully,
And skimmed the inlet floor.
Her hair and dress were night itself:
But on her clothes, a flowing strand
Of crimson petals caught the wind
And scattered on the sand.
But none were missing from her clothes;
They simply formed and fluttered down.
She shed them as she swung her branch
Then noticed me and frowned.
"A visitor! Unbidden, too,"
She said, "This surely is a first.
And unintended; Of the two,
I wonder which is worse?"
“I didn’t mean to startle you;
“I’ve gotten turned around. I meant—“
"'No great offense, just passing through'?
Yet toward the dusk you went!"
She laughed as crows are wont to do.
"Oh, what mistakes your wonder's made!
My face, I think, is new to you—
You're truly not afraid.”
"I wasn't, not at first," I said.
"And I apologize if I
Offended you by coming here."
She cackled in reply.
“Naivety breeds honesty,”
She smiled. "Very well. For you,
I'll name myself so you can see
What folly's led you to."
Her dress and flowers gently swelled,
She stilled her branch and then she dropped,
But didn’t so much fall as slid,
Then touched the beach and stopped.
"My names are often cold when heard:
The sound of candles quickly snuffed;
A soldier's gasp when once he learns
His strength was not enough.
"My name means rust. It means decline,
The Faded Light, the Trailing Breath—
When visiting the West, your kind
Has called me Living Death.
“A herald few would ever seek,”
She said as petals formed and fell.
“But fewer still have seen my creek,
And none have known me well."
Her feet pressed lightly on the shore
And made no imprint in the sand
She started toward me, smiling,
And showed her open hand.
"Your fate you’ll forfeit, as you must:
I've heard your voice—and you've heard mine.
But since you’ve been so courteous
I’ll give you back some time."
She stared at me. "But now you’ll go.
My flowers need to spread again.
Remember them, and always know:
You’ll smell them in the end.”
Her dress's print began to swirl,
Each crimson petal wrapped and churned;
They smelled of roses, candle-smoke,
And sulphur as it burned.
I turned and sprinted down the path
But faintly, through the forest breeze
I heard the awful sound of crows—
Of laughing in the trees.
The twilight left and day returned,
Then day again exchanged for night
Each breath another agony—
My fear had wound me tight.
I passed the dam, then left the trail
And through the town I ran until
Once home, I checked upon the night
From every windowsill.
I still take walks, but cautiously,
And only venture where I should.
I know the world was made by things
We've never understood.
And if on Hallow’s Eve, you hear
The distant cackling of crows
I hope you never smell the smoke,
The sulfur, or the rose.
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