Each Halloween

colossal oaks
lurk along streets, parks, hollows.
Stripped of their yellow, brown, and red veneer,
they shiver ever so silently
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 maples.

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 -
twitch in anticipation
their thick roots
reach out to trip
their skeletal branches
anxious to snatch
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

and the bag splits

and his candy spills
onto the path.

Then the boy stumbles on a thick 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 be his friends playing a trick.

Then each ankle is snatched,

each wrist encircled.
Dried 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 the trees.

Now a storm is brewing

the oaks creak and moan
as their bases bend and
 their branches snatch.

This is no trick at all.

The trees have their treat.