A poem in honor of Halloween

Each Halloween
colossal oaks
lurk along streets, parks, hollows.
Stripped of their yellow, brown, and red veneer,
they shiver ever so sightly
in the October twilight.
They seethe among shadows,
their twisted trunks grinning.

The squirrels
usually scurrying and hoarding acorns
have sought the safety of the pines.
The sparrows too
have fled to the elms and cottonwoods.

A young boy - on a dare -
takes the short cut
through the darkest hollow.
He hears the branches shiver
in the wind while he wipes
the sweat from behind
his mask.
He suddenly realizes
it has been an Indian summer
and there has been no breeze.

Each Halloween
these colossal oaks
silenced since early settlers
hacked and sawed
them into submission
now twitch in anticipation.
Their thick roots
reach out to trip.
Their skeletal branches
eager to snatch
at a solitary
trick or treater.

Ever so slightly, the boy shifts to the
far edge of the path
and clutches his bag of candy tight
just in case.

But all is silent.

It must have been a trick of the twilight.

There is a tug
and he turns to see a slender branch
caught on the bottom of his bag.
It tugs again,
almost eager this time
and the bag splits
and his candy spills
onto the path.

Then he stumbles on a root
that had not been there before.
He slips into the tall grass
beneath the trees.
He hears the branches shaking
as if a storm is brewing.

It must have been a trick by his friends.

Then each ankle is snatched,
each wrist encircled.
Dead leaves and foul bark
fill his gaping mouth.
Dust and splinters
clutter his disbelieving eyes.

The branches tug
more eager than ever
and the boy splits
and he is spilled
into trees.

Now a storm is brewing
the oaks creak and moan
as their bases bend
to where they should topple
and their branches clutch
to where they should tear free.

This is no trick at all.

The trees have their treat.