All Hallow’s

sweet dreams of summer rains
transform into the chill of autumn,
leaves dancing in the wind,
and the scent of a storm coming
with the darkening sky.

somewhere a spark is struck,
fire crackles in a stone hearth,
drying wood gets new life,
new beauty as it crumbles,
turning to ash in the flames.

there is purpose in decay:
the fire chases away the chill
and casts a mysterious light
on the room’s surroundings,
driving away cold and shadows.

outside, a sound of laughter
hurried feet, a rap upon the door:
tired smile, warmth within,
new beauty as it welcomes,
one generation to another.