erin

zombie lawn pirates

We tried vinegar and baking soda and chili pepper and citrus, a whole grocery list of alternative pesticides and they didn’t even blink, not that they have eyelids. Some of them have parts of eyelids.

They seemed to like the limes.

There was some debate over trying something stronger but wine keeps them from causing too much trouble, even cheap wine. And they only show up in October, though once one shambled across the lawn in the winter, dragging a tattered flag and looking confused until it disappeared under a snowbank.

They’re annoying, but it’s a manageable sort of annoyance.

They flop out of the shrubbery and yell “Arrggghhh” and one of them sometimes says “Avast!” but other times his jaw falls off before he can get the whole word out and he slinks embarrassedly back under the leaves.

They sing songs we assume are supposed to be shanties but it’s difficult to discern any words so we can’t be certain.

They’re only really problematic on Hallowe’en, because of the trick-or-treaters.

We warn them that the pirates bite, but they don’t always listen.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

the leaf painters 

Sometimes the leaf painters are overly enthusiastic.

(They only get to paint once a year, after all.)

Sometimes fragile leaves are covered with so much color that it overexcites and overwhelms their already temporary leaf natures.

Some freshly painted leaves let go too soon, seduced by the promise of a dance with even the gentlest breeze.

For other leaves the new colors are so bright and hot and strange that they burn out like flames.

They fall to the ground, crisp and brown, faded and exhausted and confused.

(Leaves are sensitive things.)

But once in awhile the painters get everything right.

Reds and russets and oranges and golds gently applied and perfectly balanced, dancing with the lingering greens, not too much or too bright or too fast.

And the painted leaves just glow, warm and surprised and delighted.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.

pumpkin picking

You must pick a pumpkin.

You are not allowed to leave without one.

(And trust us, you don’t want to stay here.)

The pumpkins are more or less identical, relatively similar in size and shape with subtle deviations in stems and shades of orange.

Their contents… vary.

Three contain fulfillments for wishes which must be wished immediately or the previously pumpkin-contained opportunities will vanish into the autumn air, forever lost.

A few are occupied by tiny creatures, each unique and some more tamable than others.

One holds instant death.

Take your time, but you have to pick one.

That’s the rule.

About flax-golden tales. Photo by Carey Farrell. Text by Erin Morgenstern.