November 1, I hung the tiny jack-o-lanterns from the tree out back. I think I'd like to fill the tree with about three times as many pumpkins next year (although they would be tempting for the stupid squirrels and I'd have to practice just accepting that a few of the jack-o-lanturns would be mauled for seeds.
But having a tree filled with glowing faces and illuminated with flickering candlelight would be worth it, I think. I keep thinking that I'd like to have an outside Tarot reading table for Halloween night, but the logistics of getting folks into our yard are tricky.
Cicero was uncharacteristically cooperative with the camera, and I got a few good black-cats-and-pumpkin shots. Mark was unimpressed because A) what's the big deal about Halloween and B) yet another cat photo on the Internet. Oh well.
Now it's been a week and The Child was wistfully wondering if he could take a baseball bat to the hanging jack-o-lanterns, one of which has had its face gnawed off by squirrels. I told him no because A) it's post-Halloween and B) beating effigy heads is for the uncouth and ignorant.
Besides, I think there's a kind of prophesy at work -- the first jack-o-lantern to fall off the tree was the one with the jagged smile, and the one with the mauled hole for a face looked like a knight, and will frowny one be the last? There must be a meaning in there.
I'm guessing that if this were one hundred years ago, the last jack-o-lantern hanging would turn out to be my husband. It sounds like researching crow counting rhymes and other folk oracles may be in order.
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