Mothers are the place that we call home. On them we rest our heads and close our eyes. There's no one else who grants the same soft peace, happiness, contentment, sweet release, erasing righttime tears with lullabies, restoring the bright sun that makes us bloom.

Halloween wraps fear in innocence, as though it were a lightly sour sweet. Let terror, then, be turned into a treat.

By day each soul must walk within its shadow. Only night can make us whole again.

On Halloween, witches come true; Wild ghosts escape from dreams. Each monster dances in the park.

Only night can make us whole again.

Love of life at times requires death

Eight days the light continued on its own: A miracle, they say, but not more so Than ordinary lives of flesh and bone, Consuming wicks burned ashen long ago.