The full white moon hung in the ink black sky looking down upon the still village. Anyone walking past or through would believe the buildings to be abandoned. There were wooden boards nailed at windows and doors. Crosses, often makeshift ones, hung about and the air smelt strangely sweet.
Plant pots of blooming purple flowers were close to every door as well as mistletoe. Small green trees, turning gold by the autumn season, were also growing very close to the sides of the houses as well as in the surrounding fields. It was easy to see that the only thing this village planted was rye. The gold grain grew tall in the fields and looked almost ready for harvesting. Also, if anyone choice to walk around the edges of the village, they would find the river had been made to circle around the fields. So, it seemed the villagers had decided to become islanders.
Anybody who even made it out to the remote village in the valley would wonder what the reasoning behind it all was. However, the chances of finding a coachman and a team were impossible tonight. Anyone who had been a foot was now safe behind barred doors with their fires and candles almost out.
As the midnight hour arrived, a lone wolf howl echoed off the mountains.
Story inspired by; https://scvincent.com/2016/10/13/thursday-photo-prompt-moonlit-writephoto/ With thanks.