Seasonal Mutterings

I love fall.  I love the blue, deep blue of the sky.  I breathe the crisp almost sharp air, filling my lungs until they're too-too full.  Rustling, crinkling leaves.  Apple cider.  Apple butter.  Apple crisp.  Anything apple.  I think fairies could possibly live in the fall.  I don't think they live any other time of the year - just the fall.  The Tinkerbells and the Peter Pans peer in my window and watch me in front of a warm fire, reading a book, with a mug of my favorite apple cider in my hand.  

Here's a quick scribble:

Come, let us go for a moonlight stroll,
Where the shadows are thicker than leaves in autumn,
Than brown leaves strewn across the path.
And you'll take my hand, and
Together we'll walk the paths that
Spirits walked before us,
And left breathy images a-floating behind.
The wind whispers,
And the boughs speak and creak,
The roots ridge the path,
But have no fear, because 
The moon resides here.
It floats among the branches,
Peeping here, glistening there,
Lighting the ghosts and the tree-elves,
Welcoming them to the physical world,
Until we see that the quirky nose of an elf
Is a gnarled stump on a tree.
A witch's broomstick turns into a brand.
Or, you wonder, is it?
Is the moon illuminating what is,
Or what we perceive?
What is moonlight after all,
But a tryst between the world of light
And the liquid of dark?
Where trees and roots and bushes
Co-exist with warthogs and goblins and fairies
And the cackling chatter of swirling leaves
Reminds you of a ghouls' meeting where drinks are served.
Your hand tightens in mine
And together, we walk among them.