It seemed to Myop as she skipped lightly from hen house to pigpen to smokehouse that the days had never been as beautiful as these.
She had explored the woods behind the house many times. Often, in late autumn, her mother took her to gather nuts among the fallen leaves. Today she made her own path, bouncing this way and that way, vaguely keeping an eye out for snakes.
By twelve o'clock, her arms laden with springs of her findings, she was a mile or more from home. She had often been as far before, but the strangeness of the land made it not as pleasant as her usual haunts.
Myop began to circle back to the house, back to the peacefulness of the morning. It was then she stepped smack into his eyes. Her heel became lodged in the broken ridge between brow and nose, and she reached down quickly, unafraid, to free herself.
He had been a tall man, From feet to neck covered a long space. His head lay beside him. When she pushed back the leaves and layers of earth and debris Myop saw he'd had large white teeth, all of them cracked or broken, long fingers, and very big bones.
Frayed, rotted, bleached, and frazzaled--barley there-- but spinning restlessly in the breeze. Myop laid down her flowers. And the summer was over.