Samhain, All Saints Day, Halloween. The time when the frontier between the material and the spirit world, between the good and evil, between life and death. Between me and my ancestors. I do not believe in mediums and this kind of thing, but I seriously wonder whether ancestors can travel over large bodies of water with us, or will I have to go back home to properly meet mine.

Funny, as I wrote this, there was a loud noise, as if a tire exploded and the bus I’m in swayed a little, but kept speeding on the highway. And all of us in the bus looked at each other with the same expression. Being in the office on time suddenly didn’t matter much. The frontier between the important and unimportant. Still, they need to get that bus checked before putting it back into circulation.

This was also the first time I exchanged a smile and a few words with a woman I see on this same bus almost every morning.

We’re losing a little bit of light every day. A little bit of faith too, I feel it seeping through me, as if someone made a tiny hole in my being. I raise my head from my phone screen filled with news about floods in Spain and the upcoming train wreck of American elections and look at a gorgeous sunrise. Then I see the clouds, pink and baby-blue, floating over the rivers of highways and oceans of concrete, suspended right above the metal men of high voltage electricity lines. And I realise that at no point of my journey, at no moment of my life I am not in contact with something living. So I start listing all the living things I meet: sunrise, clouds, crows raising over empty fields, the fields themselves, the river, trees on the foreground, hills in the distance, other people.