The summer is gone. The irrigation system has been turned off, the outside shower closed and most of the furniture on the deck covered. The backdoor already has the storm door on and later today I’ll do the front. Though the days are still in the 60’s, the nights are chilly, in the 40’s. I snuggle under a blanket to stay warm, and the animals sleep close to me. The house is cold in the morning. Winter inches closer and closer.

The birds are fewer. Gone are the orioles and the goldfinches. The sky is sometimes filled with flocks flying elsewhere, somewhere warmer, but the chickadees, nuthatches and titmice will stay all winter. From my window, I’ll watch them at the feeders. Birds seem hopeful to me. They know winter doesn’t last forever so they’ll stay around and abide the cold knowing spring will return in all its glory.

My house is decorated for Halloween. It has the usual grinning jack-o-lanterns and witches, but it also has monsters and rats. Dracula, Frankenstein and his Mrs., the Creature from the Black Lagoon, the Mummy and the Wolfman adorn my mantle, though I suspect adorn isn’t quite the right word. A few rats with beady eyes sit on tables. They’re my favorites because they’re so unexpected.

When I was a little kid, my friends and I always asked each other what we were going to be for Halloween. For that one night, we would be witches, ghosts, pirates or whatever else we could dream to be. Our neighbors always wanted to know who we were behind those masks. We didn’t tell. We were the unknown spirits of the night. We’d even change the sound of our voices. Ghosts said boo and waved their shrouded arms; pirates threw around words like matey and plank while witches cackled. We were, for that one night, our imaginations. That was even more fun than the candy.