Grey fog ambles silently down the earthen path. Trees rustle listlessly in a cool breeze. The last rays of a bright sun drop beyond the horizon. Under cover of a darkened sky, fog parts, symbolic on this night. A veil you can see, yet as intangible as the one you cannot.
In the distance a vibration can be felt. I follow the path toward the rhythms that match my own. People weave in and out of the trees, dancing, chanting, celebrating. Special care was taken here. Boughs are laced with sacred herbs, jackolanterns line the walkways. But I am welcome here.
Silent as the night herself, I partake of the feast. A story is being told. I know this one well. It is a part of my very be-ing. I listen as the skillfull storyteller weaves his magic. A mist rises from the dew dampened ground. Parting and taking shape with each word of the tale.
Do the others see them too? A young girl seems to. Then she looks to me, and waves. Her golden locks bounce and shine in the firelight. I smile. I have not done so in some time, but tonight.... I smile. The young girl runs to her brother as the dawn approaches.
"Do we know her?" She asks. "She seems familiar." The boy, nearly a man now, looks toward me. He smiles wistfully and says something I cannot hear. I try to go to him, but my time is done. The hour is passed. As silently as I came, I ride the rays of the morning sun, home. I am ready now.
I hope you enjoyed my story. Peace.