The Skeleton Trees of Washington Square by LindaAnn LoSchiavo

The Skeleton Trees of Washington Square

The skeleton trees of Washington Square disguise themselves. Autumn’s dusk finds their spirits reanimated, relishing October’s constellations — Aquarius, Grus, Lacerta. Octans, Pegasus — lassoing celestial light.

Harvesting perfumes the air, redolent of that fruity must of grapes, butterscotched foam of ale, fermented snap of apple cider, cinnamon sting of hot pumpkin pies, and surrounds these skeletal entities, soothing them with familiar fragrances. But their obedience is to the dark side, for which they’ve preened in preparation, schooled by memories of nooses, hangmen, suicides, murders — mankind’s antagonistic epilation of bark amid nature’s slow reparations.

Seasonal frivolities by trick-or-treaters or costumed revelers preoccupy ordinary citizens who fail to notice Scorpio’s brazen mischief set loose. Long-fingered dryads bustle, magicking moonglow, fueling jack-o-lanterns’ blaze with souls of these ligatured, asphyxiated dead, haloing doorways and windows, while binge-watching the living on All Hallows Eve.


Image Credit: “Trees of Washington Square Sunset,” Watercolor ~1980 by Richard C. Karwoski

LindaAnn LoSchiavo
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