Looking almost yellow, the harvest moon hung low in the sky and he paused a moment to gaze and appreciate the beauty of the night. At this time of the year when he was younger, he used to help out on his grandparents’ farm. Perhaps he’d be picking ears of corn before the first frost of the year came or being sure all of the chickens were gathered in the coop for the night
A crisp wind reminded him of where he was. He sighed as he began to dig up the grave again, harvesting a different crop that night.