Not quite the hunter’s moon,
but definitely too late for supper
The shadows play in front of eyes
purple, mauve, and reddish brown
hazy faerie, mysterious haunt
is in the air surrounding
some awaken from diurnal slumber,
others prepare to fast till morn’.
yet you are there,
the spark of fantasy flashes all ’round.
the air is alive with wild imaginings-
creeping beasts, and surly trolls
are hiding at every knoll.
This witching is when you’ll know
there is more to you than flesh and bone.
The earth herself is not immune
from taking time to commune
with gaia, her sacred “other”
but to me, she’s simply mother.
Twixt the turn of day into night
find your power, or flee in fright
This is the WITCHING HOUR and heed it well
and do get caught up in its spell.
wondrous scenes will touch your eyes
skunk will challenge porcupine.
A swallow will cough up a toad
if you lose yourself from the road.
So go and enter this magic realm
and keep only this, on your helm:
an empty mind, and spirit proud,
and be ready to ride a cloud.