When hearing ordinary footprints
Overhead begins to give a chill
I remember that it is Samhain
With its familiar signs
Which centuries of masks
Cannot erase from sight-or smell or sound
Or all these senses more refined.
Not stereo, video or comforter
Can hide from shivers of this night.
I had felt the windy changes
Of my normal morning mood
And noticed trunks of trees
Becoming blacker as I watched them
Wet with rain and ravens
Flying near and not so high.
Then it came to mind that
The sun-god Lugh has fallen
Underneath the spell
Of darkest powers and of mystery.

Hidden corners of the house
Are cleaned of dust and cobwebs,
Ready for the-season's siddhe.
A sheaf of ripe Missouri corn
Stands beside the lantern pole.
We baked our pumpkin seeds

And ate some squash by candlelight.

It is right and good to be inside
And not forever seeking out
A hearth, a fire and a family,
But to claim within myself
In blood and bones
And archetypal memory
A Celtic people and
An ancient land of spirits,
Dreams and visions;
Allowing warriors, Bards, saints and druids,
To sit in watchfulness
On this hallowed hill
Within my soul
Waiting for the midnight hour
Here in my rocking chair