Farm In Autumn

A Poem of Halloween At The Farm

Season of warm colors: red barns, flaxen sun, yellow and orange harvest compliment each other as the farm readies for the day.
Ripened squash scattered atop the mahogany soil, fields spreading flat as far as the eye can see.
Signs hung out inviting passersby to sample the offerings of a long summer’s bounty.
Smell of roasted corn drifts through the crisp air and cider is offered to visitors.
Rain boots of every color adorn feet, following the path of mud and straw to the corn maze.
Rustling groves of tall green stalks hide shady corridors that beckon those who dare to enter.
Wagons loaded with pumpkins are drawn to the scales, delighted children hugging them in anticipation.
As the day shifts light to dark, so to, does the tone and setting.
Country highways fill with bright lights as the brave make their way to the haunted farm.
Muddy parking lots fill quickly as souls bundled against the cold file through the gates.
Ghouls and evil clowns entertain those in line awaiting their fate.
Screams from within evoke nervous looks and giggles, exhalations silhouetted in the glare of lights.
Once in, the macabre awaits them in every dark corner, every hidden space as couples clutch each other in fear.
Witches, skeletons, mad surgeons and the walking dead long to possess their souls: struggling against chains, restrained by bars.
Out at the end to safety with smiles and relieved laughter.
Happy revelers depart for home intact.
Travelers gone, parking lots empty, the farmers set about harvesting the night crop.
In a windowless barn in a far corner of the property, they begin with the heads.

 

 

Halloween On The Range

It’s not the same anymore.

Keep in mind that Halloween is my absolute FAVORITE holiday ever, when reading the following poem. It’s just not the same without the trick or treaters and the huge display we used to have.

Last year I had the bright idea to light torches and walk down our driveway past the neighbor’s house in celebration. They called the sheriff.

Then, because the real estate agent had given them the code to our section of the larger property, they opened up OUR private gate and trespassed onto our land with the sheriff. He found nothing amiss. She claimed her “children’ had been frightened by the torches. They were teenagers. The same ones who almost shot us. Poor poor babies.

When the real estate agent found out, she was livid and they paid a little visit to the neighbors. I paid them a little visit also. 🙂

With that said……

Halloween on the range

Where the trick or treaters stay far away

No sweets handed out

Ain’t that what it’s about

No decs to put out on display

Halloween on the range

Where the generator stays on all day

Where we don’t decorate

None can see for God’s sake

What’s the point with the dust and decay

Halloween on the range

Where we tried to partake our own way

We lit up a torch

“Scared” the teens on their porch

Called the law trespassed our property

Halloween on the range

To us it’s just another day

Where we don’t celebrate

Cause who’d participate

We just wait for the next holiday