There's a new chill in the autumn air, and I yearn for the crunch and crackle of leaves beneath my feet, the aroma of a bonfire drifting on the wind. I close my eyes and dream of pools of moonlight, tendrils of fog, and the irresistibly spooky sounds of the night.
I'm not really the kind of girl who will willingly watch a scary movie. I don't love roller coasters, or sky diving, or those strange, expensive slingshot rides at the county fair that shoot you into the sky and bounce you several times while you scream in terror, before you can get back safely on the ground. I'm not an adrenaline junkie, per se.
Yet, there's something to be said for pushing myself to venture out into the darkness. There's an excitement that comes from plunging into the domain of spiders and snakes, and the occasional green-eyed nocturnal cat that brushes by your ankles in the shadowy night. I'm not into the blood and gore hallow e'en stuff, or the kind of supernatural evil that makes one wake screaming with the bedclothes clinging to damp skin. But I do love to entertain the cold fingers of fear along that line between my shoulder-blades, and the papery voice of dread as it whispers into the hollow just below my earlobe.
I want to feel my heart flutter like a startled bird in a tiny cage. I want to explore the darkness, and let my imagination carry me away, so that when my feet do finally find the path toward hearth and home, I can be the courageous girl who lets you welcome me back with open arms, soothing me as I fight to catch my breath. I want you to tell me how very brave I've been, and how proud you are.
Then after a nice cuddle, please usher me off to bed for a wholly different kind of dark fun.
