We've already had one power outage, and I won't be surprised if there's another. The first one lasted about an hour here (it was longer in other parts of town, but apparently while fixing that one the crew did something that made it worse and engulfed the rest of us.) It was late afternoon, and it ended while there was still light in the sky, though the house had grown dark. In fact I had just lit my candles for the evening when the power returned, and I had to go around and blow them all out.
Anyway. I hope it stays on long enough for me to write this entry and get it posted, at least, and I'd be grateful if it stayed on long enough for me to watch the new episode of Poldark on PBS. I don't know if any of the Englishmen are going to murder one another, but on this particular episode there's some chance a Frenchman will either murder or be murdered by and Englishman. No mystery will ensue, of course, the French and English typically having murdered one another for political rather than personal reasons, but beggars can't be choosers.
The wind is making it feel more like October, and has me thinking about Halloween. Here Halloween isn't much of a holiday, there being few kids in this town and even fewer drag queens— well none at all as far as I know— so it's usually pretty quiet and I can sit and remember the more active Halloweens of my youth. Maybe I ought to buy a Bit-O-Honey bar this year. When I was a kid there were always a few bite-sized Bit-O-Honey bars handed out by adults who didn't know what candy kids liked. I ate them, of course, but got them out of the way early, saving the better stuff for later. Yet they are one of the first things I remember now when I think of Halloween. Maybe if I ate one now I'd find out why adults then thought kids would want them.
But Halloween isn't for a while yet. In the meantime, maybe i'll lead up to it with this week's
Patsy Sees a Ghost
by Lola Haskins
I'm crossing the river where it narrows,
carefully, it being Sunday
and I'm past the root end of the log
when I look up,
and there's a haunt sitting
on the blossom end.
I can see trumpet vine and blackberries
through her white dress.
Gnats hang in the air.
The river runs, red-brown and deep.
The haunt sings
and it's my music, the blood song
of my heart and bones
and my skull dancing in the road.
And Chloe, she knows my name.
She says Oh Patsy, take care,
or you will surely fall
and the thick river
will pull you too to shroudy weeds
and you'll be gone,
gone as the moment you looked up
and saw the trumpet vine and
berrries, hot and ready
through my white dress,
gone as all the years since I died,
and waited here for you.