Friday, October 28, 2011
We've been invited but we've begged off, being old and exhausted, and interested in the ball game. As the darkness comes on, we hear the sounds of shrieks and howls outside, and go out on the porch to take a look.
Our next door neighbors with their kids are hiking down through our driveway easement to the party below. They are elaborately costumed, and waving flashlights around. There's a little boy dressed like the Spectre of Death with a silver cardboard scepter. There are witches. Ghouls and goblins. Horrible creatures. Even Mimes!
Willa, an angelic little five-year-old, waves her horrible accoutrements at me as I stand on the porch watching, and pipes cheerfully and proudly to me, "There's blood on my hands, Aunt Snow!"
"There's a lot of people in this world with blood on their hands," I tell her, "but none of them are as sweet as you!"