I can buy a pumpkin. That part is easy.
I can choose one that is unique. I don’t want to conform to the assumed traditional, triangular eyed, orange globe. It needs to be oblong, out of whack and downright crooked. It has to leave me wondering where to begin with the knife.
I can scoop out the insides, although I am allergic. With speckled hands I can continue pulling out the slimy innards and dangling seeds. All for the love of a pumpkin. All for the display. After all, everyone expects it to be gutted and transformed. Every little ghoul and “too old for trick or treating” fool needs to be beckoned by it’s beauty.
If you carve it, they will come.
I can place it in that perfect spot on my porch where everyone will see it and admire it…on top of the rusting, old fashioned milk churn.
I could do that or I could open my mind to more possibilities.
It’s just a pumpkin.