Walked the Greenway again tonight, that stretch where the trees lean in close like they’re trading secrets. The air was thick with that October damp, leaves halfway to mulch, woodsmoke somewhere far off. I like how the ground gives a little underfoot, like the earth is breathing slow.

Heard something laughing out there. Not loud, just enough to make me stop mid-step. Thought it might have been a fox, or an owl pretending to be one. The sound carried, and for a second, I could have sworn it was human. A voice out past the last light, where the path curls down toward the creek.

Ended up finding a clearing I did not remember. Bone-white posts ringed the spot, old and worn, maybe remnants of a fence. The place felt watched, but not in a bad way. Like the woods were taking attendance.

There was a woman sitting by a crooked stump, wrapped in smoke from a fire I had not noticed until I was almost on top of it. She looked older than the hills, but the kind of old that laughs easily. Said I had wandered into one of her shortcuts. Told me paths have personalities, and some of them pick favorites.

We talked. About the weather turning. About people rushing past what deserves noticing. She poured tea from an old tin pot that did not taste like anything I have ever had, but I felt clearer afterward, like the static between thoughts had burned off.

When I blinked, the fire was gone. So was she. Just me, the trees, and that sense that the trail had rearranged itself while I was not looking.

Made it home before full dark. Still not sure if I met anyone at all. But the woods have been different since. Quieter in some ways. Kinder in others.

Might walk that way again tomorrow, just to see if the path remembers me.

Day 22 – #MabsDrawlloweenClub2025 –  Lantern

The forest tonight looked like it was painted in hush and ember. Trees stood like tall, silent witnesses, their leaves glowing orange as if autumn itself was on fire. The ground shimmered with tiny drifting sparks – fireflies? Falling stars? Little souls on their evening stroll? Hard to tell in a place where the line between the living and the gone gets soft around the edges.

Then I saw them.

A little ghost, pale as moon breath, gliding down the cemetery path with the calm confidence of someone who belongs to the night. No rattling chains. No wailing. Just quiet purpose. In their hand – if you can call that soft curl of ectoplasm a hand – they carried a lantern shaped a bit like a pumpkin, glowing warm and kind.

Not scary. Guiding.

Maybe the lantern wasn’t to light the way for themselves… maybe it was to show the rest of us it’s safe to follow.

The gravestones leaned like old teeth, the crosses cast long shadows, but the ghost didn’t seem lonely. It felt like a caretaker making rounds, checking on friends, keeping the dark gentle. I got the sense that the lantern wasn’t just light – it was memory. A flame for the ones we miss. A soft reminder that even in the quiet places, someone is watching over things.

When the ghost floated deeper into the trees, the orange glow pulsed once, like a heartbeat. The forest exhaled. And I stood there in the purple dusk, grateful that even the smallest lights know how to find their way home.

Some lanterns burn with fire.
Some burn with hope.
And some… with love that refuses to fade.

#MabsDrawlloweenClub
#mdc2522
#lantern #doodle ##digitalmarkers #roanokeva