It’s been more than two weeks since Hallowtide, but I can still feel their presence. That subtle chill down your spine, cold yet also comforting, like the hands of someone you once knew, now entirely different and yet all so strangely welcome.
(Or it could be the November winds, too.)
Living in a predominantly Catholic country can have its perks, sometimes: there’s always that one guaranteed day off of work where you get to honour your ancestors with your family (two days, if you’re lucky, or three, if the government decides they want a really long weekend).
There’s something undoubtedly powerful about celebrating really old traditions in large groups, even if you’ve been doing it all your life (28 years and counting for me). As with Catholicism’s repetitive pagan-style prayers, these annual traditions have been nothing less than intimate for us. If anything, our dealings with our dearly departed have only gotten “deeper” through the years. After all, we’re only getting closer to reuniting with them as we go along.
Below are some of this year’s captured Hallowtide moments:
For previous Hallowtide celebrations, just follow the Hallowtide tag, but here’s one from 4 years ago: