Coven of Two

Hallowe’en is my favorite holiday. I love costumes, and roaming around at night. When I was thirteen, I dressed as a headless horseman in my mom’s velvet pants tucked into knee-high boots, with a black turtleneck covering my face. I carried a lit jack o’ lantern and strode the streets with my baby brother, tall and confident.

I recently left the marina, and am now anchored at Isla Venados near Isla Lobos, which actually looks more like a gorilla than a wolf. Hallowe’en was quiet here, no party boats or tourists. More stars are visible, and I am glad to see my old friend Orion.

My friend Maureen also liked costumes, and read tarot cards at the Renaissance Faire in Agoura. One year, we decided to be a coven, just the two of us. We told each other’s fortunes, and thought witchy thoughts. She was a talented artist, but rarely sold her work — it was too personal.

She died suddenly and young — her brother’s voice on my answering machine in Seattle stunned and infuriated me. The next weekend, I drove down to his house in Oregon, and we caravanned to Santa Monica for her memorial. I wanted to take over the lease on her apartment and keep everything exactly as it was. As if a Maureen museum would bring her back.

We took her ashes out on a friend’s boat, and as we left the marina, a whole fleet of small sailboats tacked back and forth in a glorious dance of grace and beauty, sails bright in the sun.

I forget sometimes that I am not sailing alone, that there is a whole fleet of Ancestors with me, and I, too, am part of the choreography. “Going is cause for celebration,” says John. Which shifted my perspective. I am moving toward nature, toward authenticity, toward joy. I don’t have to live the way other humans do, overly connected in crowded cities. I can have what I want: a wilder life.

Pumpkin

            for Maureen

Shivering orange light

— circle, heart, sliver

Suppose she gets the card

burnt in shards of squash

Hallowe’en postal service: no charge to communing witches