By John Kendrick Bangs
The ghosts of all things past parade,
Emerging from the mist and shade
That hid them from our gaze,
And, full of song and ringing mirth,
In one glad moment of rebirth,
And again they walk the ways of earth
As in the ancient days.
The beacon light shines on the hill,
The will-o'-wisps the forests fill
With flashes filched from noon;
And witches on their broomsticks spry
Speed here and yonder in the sky,
And lift their strident voices high
Unto the Hunter's Moon.
The air resounds with tuneful notes
From myriads of straining throats,
All hailing Folly Queen;
So join the swelling choral throng,
Forget your sorrow and your wrong,
In one glad hour of joyous song
To honor Hallowe'en!
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I had a fairly quiet Friday: doing some computer work, reading some Slow River with my Kindle Click, looking up a bunch of Patrick Stewart tributes and hilarious comments about the Dune 3 popcorn bucket. We took a long walk while the temperatures were dropping and enjoyed the falling leaves.
My evening has been catching up on the new season of Boston Blue, which isn't exactly good -- so much nepotism! -- but then they all celebrate Shabbat together and I stop caring. Now we're watching the season finale of Dark Matter and things are about to blow up, literally. The C&O Canal towpath last weekend:
