Samhain Enchantment #earthweal

It was late October 2020
and there were all the trappings of modernity:
fibreglass pumpkins spraypainted and belching smoke;
a fairytale tree made to mimic nature
from some forgotten time when all the world was wonder:
Childhood

Orange, aglow, the children’s faces in
the chill October air
eyes and hearts lit by the spectacle:
a drink that fumed with liquid nitrogen;
a haunted galleon;
a Rollercoaster’s corkscrew, dizzy in the sun;
Excalibur plunged deep into the stone

But when the sun went down
true wonders came to light
riding the monorail
at sunset
as Lake Garda glittered into view
below:
such stuff that dreams are made on, and I’m a child again,
still begging on
the threshold of eternity

Later, walking the ancient streets of Lasize
the wonder and the magic of a family
enchanted
still dreaming of a future
bright with possibility, still
trying to pull
Excalibur free

Written for earthweal

For this week’s challenge, Brendan has asked us to:

…describe an enchanted moment. How did you encounter it, what became suddenly alive for you and how did it change you? If there’s a tale in there, lend it the proper narrative scope. Does that enchantment open doors to the world in new or special ways? Can our observations of the non-human be woven enchantingly? (Is there really any other way?) How does enchantment affect our empathic powers, embracing the world more fully and vitally? Can enchanted nature revitalize and radicalize fallen modernity? (I took to walking beneath trees with my eyes up to them in the wake of the calamitous American presidential election last year, and that change of focus truly balanced and stabilized a wild mind.)

I have chosen to write of a family trip to ‘Gardaland’ last year. The italicised lines are from Shakespeare (The Tempest) and (adapted from) Peter Ackroyd’s novel, Hawksmoor, respectively. The latter is a book all about the nature of miracles and wonder (and the dark side of enchantment). It seems fitting for a poem of Halloween.