Samhain
Death and Life A Wisdom Story of Hope From a tale I heard once In a place that is not this place, there is night; the longest of nights. This place has been abandoned by the day; by the light; by all that has comfort and warmth. The land is coal and ebony on obsidian. Raven clouds streak across a stygian sky – starless, moonless. You may stare; but it is your heart that sees, not your eyes. The night is relentless; arctic winds slice the landscape raw. Tops of hills reveal skeletal trees, heads bowed before the ruthless zephyrs. Their silhouettes, clawed hands imploring, seeking to escape an early grave. Seeking, but all too late; life has gone. Yet, the heart sees…what? A rhythm moving against death’s surge; but slow…so slow. The heart sees… a being, a creature, a man. An old man, as black and as dark as pitch; rough carved from slate; a semblance of a body; ancient bones as spare and as twisted as the branches he clings to; ey...