In the milky light of November, things break free from the shackles of their outward appearances. Quietly, a gateway opens onto that other world where the departed souls are at home.
All Saints' Day
The forest opens up a portal to the sky,
crystal stars are twinkling on the branches.
The souls float freely through the wooden lattice,
shrouded in a foggy robe of reconciliation.
Forgotten paths meander through the embers,
wisdom rises from the sizzling ashes.
And in the evening, a lily-white swan
merges its wings with the dusk.
Image: John Atkinson Grimshaw (1836 – 1893): October Gold (1889); Wikimedia commons
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