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The small California valley lay quiet under the eerie light of a full moon. There were a few clouds in the dark sky, but they were so thin and wispy that they seemed to vanish like gossamer as they drifted across the face of the moon.
The valley was dotted with small houses scattered in haphazard fashion. It was hardly a town. There was a general store and a gas station, but no real center. Most of the houses stood on two or three acres of land; little homesteads with their own gardens and a few chickens. In a few years this would be just another suburb of the malignantly growing city that lay so near, but now it was still a haven of peace and beauty.
The night was warm; it was mid-summer. One of the little farms seemed smaller and older than the others, or maybe it was just the special nature of the moonlight. It was way out on the farthest edge of the valley by itself. In the daylight, with all the magic of the night stripped from it, it might have looked ragged and untended. But now the warped boards of the tool shed and barn, the sagging verandah at the front of the main house, the uneven clumps of wild grass were all a perfect playground for the moon. The whole place was a contrast of light and dark, from the white gleam of the ancient wood to the deep shadows trapped under the thick tangles of trees and bushes.
Fictional reading for entertainment purposes only.