The Legend lives in the trees.

Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. October light through Dutch Colonial headstones. The smell of spruce and cold earth and something older than the town itself.

We went there. We collected the spruce. We made something from it.

Four objects for the season — a body oil distilled from Sleepy Hollow Cemetery spruce, a hand-poured candle, a limited letterpress poster, and the books that belong on the same shelf. Each one a piece of the legend. None of them will last the month.

Ichabod didn't make it out either.