My neighborhood is littered with the silken corpses of deflated Halloween decorations and giant cotton spiderwebs.

The dead have come and gone. One night of merriment and then, shedding last year’s skins across the lawn, they slithered back beyond the Veil.

I wonder: on whose life blood have they fed?

Casey Laine comes from a long line of talkative women. She parlays this abundance of words into many writings: journals, poetry, and of course several novels in progress. In her spare time, she chases butterflies with her camera, or – short of butterflies – creates vignettes out of odds and ends.