The very last fleeting dappled rays of October’s sun streamed across the pumpkin field, randomly punctuated by autumn’s tiny dust particles, dancing merrily in the mottled light.  The pumpkin field had produced its yearly huge crop of pumpkins in time for Halloween.  Every last fat, jolly orange pumpkin had been chosen by eager families in the weeks before Halloween.  Hundreds of happy pumpkins had found their homes and were serving as ambassadors to bring the spirit of Halloween.  Except for a very small, bright orange pumpkin named Patrick Pumpkin.  He had been overlooked many times by excited children, looking for the biggest or the most perfectly shaped pumpkin.  Patrick fit neither category.  He was tiny, very lopsided, riddled with bumps and sported a big scar across his forehead.

Patrick Pumpkin watched sadly from the bottom of his deep, earthy furrow as the farmer began to wrap things up for the day on Halloween.  A big orange tear trickled down the blemished side of his face, coursing around the bumps and coming to rest in the crevice of his scar. 

Almost immediately a raucous crow swooped down from the darkening sky and landed beside Patrick.  The feathered black creature was looking for the last traces of dinner, before darkness enveloped the field.  Noticing the large tear coursing down Patrick Pumpkin’s face, the crow couldn’t help but wonder at the tiny misshapen gourd’s sorrow.

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