Nevermind Halloween, late autumn is vastly still and deep, hopeless and gay, lending the vapory throngs a membrane for transposition. They drift in the unstable spherical atmosphere, which clacks against the moon and the earth, like 3 billiard balls in a clattering tercet, and peak in and dart about, peak beyond the mind and into the gritted wooeds.
Feathery, dusty, willowy peals beam down the hillside and up into space.