The Autumn wind, frigid wings upon the smoky ether- stir musings of the days gone past.
I see my Father and I turning the first pumpkin, cool and smooth, to find it’s best face for the carving. He shows me how to use his favorite fishing knife, cautiously carving into the firm pumpkin flesh. The ripe and pungent scent is generous to my nostrils. Removing the top, the sticky web filament, refusing to give of itself too easily, surrenders it’s cavernous view.
Such a treat as there are so many seeds for the roasting. My joy creates a smile upon my Father as he lets my small, eager hands grab greedily for the slick treasure of seed within. I remove each seed to make a small well for the burning of the candle.
The greasy, black marker mask looks upon me as my Father and I strike the first…
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