For me, Halloween is a mixture of childhood and adult curiosity: I remember running through courtyards with lanterns, asking for candy.
I remember how thrilled we were with every "treat" and every "scary" whisper.
Much changes over the years, but there are rituals that stay with you, like the smell of Mom's pies on Sundays. 😉

I'm Ukrainian, and in our family, even when there wasn't a holiday as such, autumn always felt like a small festival of tastes and smells.
Mom baked apple pies, I peeked at the dough, learning how to pour love into molds and fillings.
Now, when it gets dark earlier outside, I bake the same pie and put a small pumpkin on the table—not for decoration, but simply to remind myself that roots matter.

On Halloween, I like to add a touch of mischief: putting a candle on the windowsill and waiting for someone to knock.

Sometimes life is like this evening—little unexpected visits that turn the day upside down.
And every time someone brings laughter and a little madness, I realize: that's what makes us richer.
Not money, not achievements—but the people who come and leave a piece of themselves.

I love it when conversations deepen on this evening.
People tell stories they wouldn't tell on a normal Tuesday.
They open up like old books gathering dust on a shelf. Tell me, what do you dream about tonight?
What fears do you hide under your pillow?

I'm not going to judge—I'm just listening.
Sometimes, just being heard is enough for eternity to suddenly feel warmer.

If you like, you can imagine I'm next to you, and we're slowly strolling through the park in the fog. I share my grandmother's pie recipes, and you respond with stories of your first nighttime adventures.
We don't need to rush into anything; let the night do its work.
And when the clock strikes late, we'll smile and rejoice like children that another small holiday has passed, leaving behind candles and crumbs on the table. 🕯️🍰

With tenderness and a pinch of cinnamon, a Ukrainian with an autumn pie.🍂🧙‍♀️