Eerie

At the end of October-month skeletons dance on the graves of our mothers and fathers. They rise to the call of the night and bring out their buried fiddles to play a jig. Only Red Jack Robin, little Jack they call him who perches on the branches of the...

 It’s the eighth month of the year. Officially, the seasons are winding in, the sunlight Pulling in closer and closer, pressing against The encroaching night, crawling from The yawning maw of darkness. It’s the eighth month of the year. Things with eight legs begin to shift, stir, Swing their...