My Happiness

There is a strong chill that wraps around my skin,
as the decorations on my porch sway in its direction.
I lay outside in a crowded yard of leaves,
while children stuff garbage bags full of the bright ones.
Soon those garbage bags will be stacked with a straw hat and a face.
Neighbors sit on their decks drinking warm cider
freshley made by golden crisp apples picked from the finest trees.
When night falls we sit around the camp fire and tell ghost stories.
Horror movies play on the television,
but telling our own stories are more enjoyable.
In a few days at this time these streets will be filled with children.
They will be dressed as ghouls and goblins,
darting back and forth for candy.
Happiness is what fills their eyes when they run home with
pillowcases full of tootsie rolls and kit-kats.
The harvest moon hangs heavy over our heads.
As we twirl our sticks, trying not to burn our marshmallows,
we look up to catch a glimpse of the starry sky.