Five years ago, I was still in Connecticut. I was getting ready to graduate with certification from a top-notch course in therapeutic riding after having met some of the most influential people in my mid-life career. It was here the first time I scribbled the word equu8 in a scrapbook, but had no idea where it would take me.
I was living in a house built in 1895. Mary's House was the kind of New England dream home sitting atop a knoll a short walk from the Connecticut River, surrounded by stone walls and a 9-mile equestrian cross country course through the woods on 500 acres of paradise. I would awaken in the mornings to gaze through blown glass windows out onto low lying fog blanketed pastures and wild turkeys gathering. My housemates (Katie from New York and Noem from Israel) and I avoided the basement of Mary's House, convinced that those stairs were meant for "don't go down there" scenes in horror movies. The creaks and groans of this old house was spooky enough.
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| Mary's House, Old Lyme CT |
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| Um, no. |
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| Stonewall heaven |
As Halloween 2018 came to a close, I was reminded of something I wrote while staying at Mary's House one restless night when I was certain I was being visited by a specter from Mary's heyday. Perhaps a levitating witch outside my window? As it turned out, my nightmare had a simple explanation.
Rasping window slapping, scratching
Sounds as if the door's unlatching
My heart pounds, can't say a word
Until I saw the midnight bird
All Hallows' eve is drawing near
New England's saints will soon appear
Startled awake and eyes are blurred
Awakened by the midnight bird
Turn on the lamp and catch my breath
This fear will certainly bring death
Go back to sleep, this is absurd
But then returns the midnight bird
Lying awake with shadows curving
The evening has been quite unnerving
In the dark again I heard
The flapping of the midnight bird
As much as I like to scare people, I'm not much for being scared myself. However, a little pounding heart is good for creativity...
