The weight of darkness, waiting for the stars to fall, smells of soil. Old oak-trees, skeletal, brush against my sweaty face; their twigs are claws; laced with hunger. An owl hoots with desperation of an empty kiln. Suddenly awake, the bats leave the belfry, their eyes a-glow. Silence between my heartbeats diminishes as fog from rotting bogs, but still I hear his footsteps, confidently striding, crushing gravel.
dissipate my fantasy —hallow’s eve
Haibun linked to Carpe Diem (shooting stars) and dVerse Poetics where Toni wants us to write poetry on Halloween.