Sunday, October 1, 2023

On little black cat's feet...

  Hello, old friend. Welcome back to the nights of breeze taking leaves, the red orange bursting from the green in the trees, the flickering candle light behind pumpkin flesh on a porch. 

 Life, as always, continued to challenge this year. In some ways, I have been less prepared for this Season of the Witch than any in recent memory. But when the heat begins to leave us, and make us create our own with sweaters and hoodies and baking ovens and candles for the sun leaves sooner; that, is a challenge, the Ghost is always up for. 

 I started the (no fewer) than 31 Days of Scary Movies a bit early last night, as soon as midnight brought our favored month with it. As I have the last several years, I have started the month of night off with not my fancy, gorgeous 4k print of James Whale's 1931 immortal classic "Frankenstein," but with the nostalgia-dripping box set of Frankenstein from the early-mid 2000s, which the Ghost bought at a time he did not have much else, and each cent has been worth it tenfold ever since. I love the ambient menus with thier old movie sound effects and voices and sound effects of real ghosts, nearing the age of almost 100 years, and listening to the rain, the wind, and, of course, the electric volts used to summon the monster. 

 As always, the sets hit me first. What would it have been like to be on those sets, all those years in the buried past, and see the graveyard with the tower reaper, the stairs leading up to the lab, and the high-vaulted rooms of the Frankenstein estate-- up close, in living color, in person? Also of not much note, on this viewing I noticed more than usual how Elizabeth and Henry seem to have the beginnings, or want for the beginnings, of a relationship even when they are first introduced, and it's a nice detail to wonder just how long Henry's descent into his experiments have been, and what Elizabeth's motives are for staying around and still wanting to marry into all this wealth. 

Sometime while I was watching this scary movie, the fog crept in al lover my world. I looked outside and it was as if Carl Sandberg's poem had come true; and, this time, it was a little black cat who's feet the fog crept in on. I had one more glass of apple cider-- perhaps too much sugar before bed-- and went to sleep with the theme music and scenes from John Carpenter's classic ghost movie, "The Fog," playing in my head. 

 Oh, and earlier in the day I placed this lovely Bat! gifted from a dear friend on our door. 

 I have missed you, October. 

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