The circus arrives without warning. No announcements precede it. It is simply there, when yesterday it was not.

It’s said that All Hallows’ Eve is one of the nights when the veil between the worlds is thin - and whether you believe in such things or not, those roaming spirits probably believe in you, or at least acknowledge your existence, considering that it used to be their own. Even the air feels different on Halloween, autumn-crisp and bright.

The past stays on you the way powdered sugar stays on your fingers. Some people can get rid of it but it’s still there, the events and things that pushed you to where you are now.

He turns and walks away, moving so quickly that the candle flames shiver with the motion of the air. “I miss you,” Isobel says as he leaves, but the sentiment is crushed by the clatter of the beaded curtain falling closed behind him.

The circus arrives without warning.

Sometimes I write what I can't paint, and I paint what I can't write. I use a different part of the brain.

I suppose there will never be a lack of things to say, of stories to be told and shared.