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Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

 Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,

 While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,

 As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.

 `’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, `tapping at my chamber door –

 Only this, and nothing more.’

photo (12)This season I took a different approach to my fall / October decorating. I was inspired by Edgar Allen Poe’s poem, “The Raven,” and a few things I had seen done on-line.

I do not care for the grisly side of Halloween—slasher movies, chain saws, zombies, or even vampires. But a hint of something ‘tapping at my chamber door’ gives me a delicious thrill that makes me want to snuggle under the covers and wait wide-eyed for morning.

– here I opened wide the door; –

 Darkness there, and nothing more.

Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

 Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;

Just the idea of standing in a night shirt, vulnerable to the unseen, staring into the vacant blackness, and not knowing what is out there—now that is scary.

I painted an old bird-cage, and decoupage 3 dollar store pumpkins--one with the poem, one with burlap, and one with a raven (that will be replaced when I can get a large white pumpkin). The books are wrapped in white paper and the candle is wrapped with braided twine.

I painted an old bird-cage, and decoupage 3 dollar store pumpkins–one with the poem, one with burlap, and one with a raven (that will be replaced when I can get a large white pumpkin). The books are wrapped in white paper and the candle is wrapped with braided twine.

I confess, I like dinners by candlelight where friendly rooms retreat to shadows beyond the ring of light. I like ghostly pumpkins with melted wax dripping on my porch. I like the crunch of leaves under foot and old books that topple on shelves.  I like the shadows of bare branches on my wall, and the contrast of black birds against gray skies, and old fashioned stories told at sunset.

 By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,

 `Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,’ I said, `art sure no craven.

Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the nightly shore

I printed out the picture--I chose a caricature version--of Poe and picked up the frame at Ikea for less than $2. I also printed out the poem that is on this pumpkin.

I printed out the picture–I chose a caricature version–of Poe and picked up the frame at Ikea for less than $2. I also printed out the poem that is on this pumpkin.

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!’

Quoth the raven, `Nevermore.’

I picked up the branches on a hike and wrote on the mirror with marker meant for writing on glass.

 
I picked up the branches on a hike and wrote on the mirror with marker meant for writing on glass.
The banner I made from burlap and chose my own phrase since the ones on-line didn't quite strike me. I wrote the letters with markers and strung it on twine.

The banner I made from burlap and chose my own phrase since the ones on-line didn’t quite strike me. I wrote the letters with markers and strung it on twine.

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