I Feel It In My Bones

Daily Prompt asks: What is your favorite holiday? Why is it your favorite?

Victorian Greeting Card

The only holiday that I really love to celebrate is Halloween

Christmas is ok, I like the music, most of the time I enjoy putting up the tree  and I also like it when it snows.

Wait a sec.

Does my dog’s birthday count as a holiday? Well. It should be. He’s pretty awesome.

Hamish Macbeth Turns 8!
Photo A.M. Moscoso

I guess what I love about Halloween is that every year you can change it up, you don’t have to stick to a script and it’s okay if  turn it upside down and shake it by it’s heels.

By that I mean, you can celebrate it alone, you can celebrate it with bunch of people at a party or at a Haunted House.  Nobody is going to bat an eye if you don’t dress up or you don’t carve a pumpkin.

Halloween is a holiday that wants you to make your mark on it.

You can spend the season reading spooky stories, you can write them too ( ahem ) You can visit graveyards and go to places, ‘where once upon a time something really strange happened ‘ and you can take pictures or just sit there and soak in the atmosfear.

Photo A.M. Moscoso

Starting in June I start to write up my Halloween posts and stories. I don’t get to far ahead of myself because sometimes the Muse shows up and we sort of strike out on other topics and that is okay. I just bank those stories and use them later.

I can say this without skipping a beat:

What I love the most about Halloween is that it calls on me to be creative, daring and to jump into the human race and celebrate  the night with gusto and joy.

That is why Halloween is my favorite holiday- and with that let’s close with Macbeth and his three Witches because, like I said there is no one way to express yourself where Halloween is concerned.


Artist Unknown


Carved In Stone


[Blue Graveyard]
Hugo Steiner-Prag1880/1945

Dig a grave

fill a grave

by moonlight, by starlight, at dawn

I do not care

if it is raining or snowing or a hundred degrees in the shade

give me a spade, a shovel and a bunch of flowers to plop in the urn when I am done.


Haunt a house

draped in a soft white sheet

my hair in a braid

hanging to my waist like a  severed noose, my fingertips torn and twisted

I will haunt my house, your house, the empty asylum

where all of the clocks stopped at midnight and the basement doors are nailed shut.


Take a long stroll in the darkness

on a road with no sidewalks

lined with elm trees and broken streetlights

houses with missing windows and weed chocked yards

where there will always be a car that  breaks down

and the only other soul on that will be on that street  beside the the driver is me


under the elm tree in the darkness on a street where nobody lives

I am sure that all the  driver and I will be thinking about

is our bucket list.


Nina Leen1944-11
Night in cemetery where author Washington Irving is buried.