The first All Hallow

The sunset was a pale sigh and walking through the cemetery my feet were leadlike; with darkness arriving I felt the burden of my mourning growing.

A year had passed, winter was hard but through summer I had gradually accepted your absence. My agony had been replaced with an acceptable ache and one evening in August, I even managed to smile remembering the way you had laughed at the harvest moon.

The miasma of rot and mildew is nauseating and my breath is hollow as I reach your grave.

I place the candle by your headstone and inside the comfort of its flickering orb I know my choices; only two leaves are left. This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence.

To leave and maybe later heal, or open up my wounds to die.

The sickle-moon gives no answers; I will stay a while.

Today we write Prosery at dVerse. Write any piece of prose and incorporate the text “This is the barrenness of harvest or pestilence” which comes from Louise Glück’s poem “All Hallows”

20 responses to “The first All Hallow

  1. Exceptional storytelling, Bjorn. This line particularly captivates me:
    “I place the candle by your headstone and inside the comfort of its flickering orb”

  2. Yeah, I agree, you should make the tradition more like an Irish wake,
    with drink and food and good cheer in remembrance.

  3. This is enchanting in a somber way Björn. Wonderful writing! I felt the chill of the evening.

  4. I love how you painted the night with The miasma of rot and mildew is nauseating. And the riveting plot was : To leave and maybe later heal, or open up my wounds to die. I can only imagine what is the decision.

  5. I prefer your Halloween to what ours has become, Björn, a commercial farce. Remembering the dead is part of the cycle of life. I very much love the ‘sunset was a pale sigh’ and ‘My agony had been replaced with an acceptable ache’. I agree with Grace about the plot being riveting; you leave us wondering what the protagonist decided to to do, heal or open up his wounds to die.

  6. Great storytelling, Bjorn. (I fear I took such exception to the phrase I never got around to telling a story!)

  7. Deeply felt. Your metaphors are exquisite, starting from the sunset was a pale sigh and building from there.

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