Beautiful misty morning and a Samhain message from the Oracle. Don’t even mention zombies, broomsticks or ghosts with chainsaws to me, please.
Sing life in the morning on waking,
the sleep dream lingering,
draped in dawn-dapples and the mist of imaginings.
Sing, with bird chatter
keeping the rhythm,
the chug-chug-chugging of insect and seed-search,
and at the end, when night falls,
sing the death song,
sail out the last ship onto dark seas,
swell rolling, oiled satin,
let the last sound
be one of sweet sorrow.