Tonight we remember the dead.
The pumpkin has been carved and the table set in readiness. This is the night for us to tell the tales of those whom we have lost, for through our stories their voices will be heard once more.
First though we must light the candles to guide their spirits home. The flames look so small against the darkness behind the windows, yet as they dance they fire up our souls and we begin to feel their presence again.
The food is eaten in silence, in deference to the empty place at the table’s head. Our mouths are occupied in savouring each bite of the feast while our minds call up half forgotten memories of those whom we have loved and long to see again.
And we remember them.
We speak of all that they did, all that they said and all that they meant to us. The fire burns low as our reminiscing continues, for nothing can be left out, nothing ignored. Finally both our memories and voices are spent and we retreat to our beds, dreams of times past settling over us like blankets.
And tomorrow? Tomorrow we will wake with a warmth in our hearts that can only be kindled by the touch of the dead.
If you are grieving I pray that you will find solace tonight.
If you are remembering I pray that the tears you shed are happy ones.
If you are alone I pray that you remember you are not.
My pumpkin:
The spare place:
The Samhain fire:
The Halloween Hound!
Kizzia Mildmay 