Tis the season of Samhain, a time of wonderment, a time of harvest, a time of fear.

The sun sinks lower in the sky, as the cool autumn winds come howling through the trees.
Tis the season of ending, the season when crops are done growing and need to be harvested, a time of reflection.
For the winter comes soon, long dark days, cold long nights. A time of stocking up the pantry, chopping wood, gathering the animals and finishing making clothing for the chilly nights ahead.

Samhain, a ritual steeped in time honored tradition, the harvest celebration, a celebration of the dead and departed.
Followed by the day of the dead, a tradition that wouldnt become a tradition until much later in time.
But, one that came about, because of Samhain, for the night before, is when the spirits arise and start their astral visage.
It is said, that the veil betwixt this world and theirs is thinnest this night, a time when specters and demons walk the earth, amongst all the other apparitions of the night.

The elders would sacrifice an animal to appease the spirits, food was left at the edge of the village for the visitors in the night.
Masks were worn to scare away any demons that might happen to visit this night.
Much dancing around fires was done, a celebration of sorts and a vigil also.

A celebration of the harvest and the summer that just was and had gone.
A vigil for the demons that may try to steal the harvest and the children, for children were good to eat, demons liked children.

For you see, the villagers gave demons human characteristics, for they knew not, any better. Demons where what the villagers made of them, dark ominous figures, dancing about in the shadows.

Evil creatures, stalking the living, creating misery and mayhem, wherever they go.

SAMHAIN, a time of light, a time of darkness, a time of feasting, a time of famine, a time of wonderment and fear.
A time when the light begins to fade, when the sun does not warm the earth as well as it did, a time of great fear and anxiety for many.

Remember well our ancestors, what they did, how they did it, why they did it.

To forget history is to repeat it.

Merry Meet, Harm None.