Tonight, Halloween, is the Night of the Dead. It is the night when ghosts return to haunt their old domains, and evil spirits wander freely around this earthly world. Witches are rife, raising hailstorms, conjuring up tempests, and commanding thunder and lightning to appear at the merest twitch of a magic broomstick. It is, perhaps, a night more full of superstition than any other night throughout the year.
The weather also has its superstitions, inextricably interwoven with the traditional weather lore that has been handed down through generations.
The difference is that the latter, weather lore, is based on shrewd observation of meteorological precursors by those whose livelihood depended on the elements; superstitions, as the name confirms, are beliefs which are believed simply because they are believed.
The traditions of the sea-faring community are rich in superstition. Ill fares the ship, for example, whose cat is drowned at sea; foul weather is a certain consequence of its demise.
Hares or rabbits on a ship invariably bring a storm. So too do eggs, and clergymen bode ill, having apparently having the better of the devil on land, but enjoying no such immunity from his machinations when at sea.
Landlubbers also have their weather superstitions, many of them providing long range forecasts.
Abundant berries on the holly bush, for example, are reckoned to indicate a hard winter, the reasoning being that the bush obligingly provides a bounteous crop to sustain the birds in the expected harsh conditions.
And when frogs spawn in the middle of a pond it is a sign of an impending drought.
It is sometimes suggested that birds or animals may be more sensitive to pressure or humidity than we are, and that this may help them to anticipate the weather. In the very short term, this may well be so, although even if this animal ultra-sensitivity exists, pressure and humidity on their own are not good indicators.
But sayings based on the appearance of the sky that predict the short-term prospects need not be discarded quite so lightly. Rain before seven, dry by eleven may well turn out to be the case, since many bands of frontal rain last only a few hours.
And a golden-red sunset suggests that the atmosphere over the horizon to the west is clear and dry and free of cloud - usually a fair indication that rain is unlikely in the next 12 hours or so.
All in all, forecasts like these are a mixture of nonsense and clever observation. There is just enough usefulness in some of the sayings to have maintained a reputation through the years. But superstitions are - well, simply superstitions.