A fat yellow moon appeared in the branches of the fig tree as if it were going to roost there with the chickens.

I stood at the brink, between two trees, peering down into a darkness that not even the fat moon could dispel.

At the horizon, the fat moon darkened with clouds.

The deformed fat moon was there now, almost touching it, yet still most bright.

Rolls off the tongue like a fat little moon.

The moon, fat and red, slipped swiftly up the purple sky.

He turned to look at Becca, her face as pale as the fat moon overhead.

The presence of a big, fat moon would have made it better, somehow.

To the west was a fat moon glimpsed through the trees, a silvery promise beyond the bleak urban woods.

Beyond the edge of the world, four fat full moons rose in a vertical line against the stars.