So raw are the hearts of those who know, as the veil transforms into a filmy gossamer and the silence writhing within those knowing hearts becomes filled with voices from the past. Photos of beloved departed carefully framed and set out, ingredients for a feast awaiting the dawn’s preparation, and the scent of autumn hangs in the air. Its almost the Eve.
The children run down the halls squealing without really knowing, but they sense the height of emotion and as mother finds the skirts, masks, and cloaks they beg to know where she hides the treats in the kitchen. Life abounds within the sacred walls, and all is laid out with breathless fingers, and the most hushed sigh that knows, it is almost the Eve.
The alter, lace covered with grandmother’s favourite dressing, holds the fine crystal, satin tapers, a lovely skull, and all of the trappings and ornaments required. A smile of satisfaction from her signals it’s almost All Hallows Eve.