To protect and finish it clear resonated oil was applied, which darkened the thirsty wood to a golden brown, coat, polish, coat, polish many times till Rapunzel shone from every angle, as if lit from inside. Samhain has a certain hold on me, and I feel it to be a quite magical holiday, when the veil is lifted and one can feel their ancestry closer to them. My ancestors moved from Ireland in the mid 19th century, and did not think well of their homeland. Their descendants were happy to be Americans, and my father doesn't even know his great grandfather's name. I may be the first in my family who feels as strongly as I do about Ireland, but it holds a place in my heart, and Druidry has reinforced the bond tenfold.
Manhattan is, of course, another island far away.
The direct line to my ancestors is lost in time. This place is where I am and belong. At times, when walking around, watching the setting sun's violet orange rays on buildings, I can feel the deep resonance of this island underneath the swirl and pulse of its busy streets, and I know I have died and been born many times so that another part of me can be illuminated. And so at Samhain, the time of the oncoming darkness, when the hearth becomes the source of illumination and heat, candles are lit inside Rapunzel in tribute to the trees and stone that compose her, to the unseen hands that built her, to my ancestors, to my parents and their parents, to all the unknown families who lived in my apartment, and who left behind such warm spirits to make me feel at home.