Writing this I notice that the sun has come out. I skip outside for a short walk while the leaves are still dry enough to crunch some more. I listen to the squirrels running up and down the trees and through the gathered leaves and chirping as they gather. Warning me away from their caches.
All around town, there are deflated decorations, some of huge proportions, lying empty and abandoned in yards, waiting for the cover of darkness to come to life.
Little motors pushing air go a long way toward fun.
Here’s a poem that doesn’t really need a lot of explanation. If you experienced the Halloween Blizzard, you’ll understand.
Growing up in northern Illinois we had some of those too. Winter, like the best of jump scares, was unpredictable and ruined more than one trick-or-treating experience. Or did it? I was obviously older in 1991, and my Moonboots were long gone, but I’ve always been a kid at heart.
“Halloween 1991” My costume is “I’m cold”
and I’m wet cause you can’t see my real costume underneath the blue parka hood with the faux blue fur hood trim that the zipper splits down the middle and folds on the back like an old Letterman’s jacket but, when it’s fastened all the way makes me look like a blue Mr. Snuffleupagus.
The elastic on my plastic mask snapped and Mom retied it with a rubber band and that is pulling my hair like crazy under this hood.
You can’t even tell I’m the green Hulk and not the old gray one even with my big puffy foam green Hulk hands coming out the ends of my nylon blue winter coat.
The coat that is wet through the shoulders already.
If my orange canvas tote bag with the black fabric paint jack-olantern grin was full enough to slip out of these freakish fumbling fingers I suppose I’d have something to complain about but it isn’t so I’ll focus on the fact that the snow almost reaches the tops of my Moonboots already and the Wonderbread plastic bread bags inside from Grandma keep slipping down my ankles.
Jeff and Brian have been kicking snow with every step, Dracula and Spidey, flinging it like cobwebs and spider webs so there’s enough melted snow down my open neck and in my boots as it is. I knew I should have just worn converse All Stars.
Through the snow which is fast becoming a blizzard I can see leaves blowing, capes floating like flags, ghost sheets lost to the wind and the soft yellow glow of doorways and porch lights winking up the long street towards the rise of the sledding hill.
I think our car may be stuck in the slush back by the park where Mom and Dad left it to have pizza and pasta so I won’t have to worry about being picked up early in the Plymouth. Maybe someone will send a hearse.
©Timothy James Stouffer #elystreetpoet 10282026 All Rights Reserved
