Birds soar through the night sky, destination unknown, but what gives when daemons roam? Down through the juneberry bush, birds feast for minutes, not hours. Once again, soaring through a wintery day, just like old times when Saint Nic came and guided them to the North Pole. Only feathers for heat and not a white dove were seen in the blizzards of day and night.
We will have turkey, not chicken, on this fine day, just like when geese flew off and down to the Mediterranean Sea. As they did not want to be as cold as him.
Then a daemon came and blew away that nasty chirp that angels knew. Along came Gabriel and cast away the daemon’s blue. He knew it was just a phantom, but still, he flew. When he gave up, all hell was loose.
The only way to save self was to name this ungodly creature Halloween night and make an ending that was just right.
