It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin after Hallowe’en.
No more light inside.
No more chasing away evil spirits.
No more revelry.
Only the crunch of leaves in fading light and the growing chill in the autumn air.
October past and gone.
Watching fallen comrades smashed to pieces, rotting on the ground.
Unable to close your eyes or look away.
It is a sad thing to be a pumpkin in November.
All they want you for is pie.
About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.