The wind blew his hair across his forehead.

He didn’t bother to brush it away.

We walked together toward the wooden back steps of the house.

“Wait,” I said.

I stopped and pointed toward the grazing land.

A line of neon pink ribbons fluttered on thin wooden stakes.

They started near the gravel driveway, ran in a perfect row past the red barn, and disappeared over the small ridge near the county road.

Luke squinted into the wind.