It is by the broad light of day that I type this missive. I woke this morning before the sun had risen bright in the east. From the seat of my porch did I watch it banish the long night I had weathered, the darkness shrinking to but spindly shadows reaching for the west in anticipation of the sun's departure from this land. The dark of night is not long banished.

We are now well within that time of year when those frightful wee hours are well populated by that which we cannot explain. Spectres of those time ago lost return for rites they never received. Beasts unnamed prowl through wood and field alike, seeking ever to satiate, in vain, their insatiable hunger.  The sky beneath pale moonlight is alight with echoing cackles and screeching bats. All Hallow's Eve draws nigh. I can no longer resist the nightly call of the beer that is Hoppin' Frog's Frog's Hollow.