Two intrepid lovers blaze their way thru the fog, dodging the ruts and avoiding the enclosing trees of the mountain road, riding a ghostly torrent of swirling mists, perfect for the approach of All Hallows Eve.

Two intrepid lovers blaze their way thru the fog, dodging the ruts and avoiding the enclosing trees of the mountain road, riding a ghostly torrent of swirling mists, perfect for the approach of All Hallows Eve.

 

“Whew, baby, like a brew of the witches of these times” “he he - ah my love, they are right here in all forms - with all the hype along all the channels, all the notes of enrage, there will be more spirits here than ever — this will be wicked fun this year” “can the wild claims and reports of real harm be true?” “impossible to tell with so much madness” “well, this has always been place to bring all that out - behind every tree and in every hidden nook of this sprawling hollowed spot”  “perhaps many are lured by the ghoulishness of the ugly talk itslef” “whew baby, indeed”… 

 

…Their exited exchanges - their own notes upon the twists and turns comfort and steady themselves as they bounce along in their all-terrain, as they return to their beloved haven of lost souls - an ancient destination for lovers to beautifully, quietly, peacefully lose themselves for a spell, now transformed and perhaps, a lost soul itself - now a maddeningly popular resort and favorite hotspot for a new generation to celebrate the frights. 

 

“This really is a hollow that sleeps no more - I hope the others are alright” “I know, we called them here - we come here to indulge ourselves, and still can, but we must be much more careful - even here.”

 

Thru openings in the shadows they glimpse the colors of Autumn at it’s peak, and peer for glimpses of their fellows, their clan that shares everything and means everything, needing badly to disappear together in this maize of paths and dells.

 

All the while, all the spirits of the extremes, from the margins and edges of our times, they stoke themselves with their own notes, their own missives of urgency, and rise from their own mists and pour upon their wave of reclamation into the Hollow, as well. 

 

Tis the season of wicked delights, of tricks and of treats, of lost souls disappearing for awhile - as unprecedented numbers converge upon their beloved Hollow, the intrepid pair of lovers at the head of the procession winding their way through the mists of the ancient forest, they push away the rumors of genuine frights and peer through the openings for the rest of their clan of lovers…