Driving, focusing intently on the black ribbon stretching endlessly ahead, I groan. Highway 50, Moundhouse, so ugly and barren with its steel buildings, junk yards, whorehouses, whore-trailers, more like! My negative energy building as quickly as the light fades. A blood red disc suddenly reflects in my rear view mirror, my eyes caught, startled by the unfamiliar color of mother moon, hazy, floating seductive and lazy above the hills behind me. I pull over, gravel crunching under the worn tires, too noisy for this night. Slowly in the twilight I get out, face the goddess resting on her dark throne and stare. She's full and sinister tonight, the queen crone. Spirits restlessly shifting behind the veil of All Hallow's Eve. They are waiting for believers to release them home. I close my eyes, her image burning commands into my mind. So female, round and perfect, I murmur prayers that only Diana can understand. Her answer opens the dimensional doors. I hear them rush by, creating a wind that stirs my dress away from my legs and lifts my hair. Opening my eyes, fear labors my breath, I watch, relieved that the clear shadows had no interest in the living below. The dark lifts, the atmosphere is clear. The moon continues to rise from her seat, the gracious goddess of silver light once more.