Patches of coarse sand clung to her calves and elbows.

Patches of skin may still cling to some of the nuts; this is normal, and those nuts can be used.

Patches of yellow-gray sand clung to the wounds.

Patches of bright blond hair clung to that skull, and the bright color made it worse, more obscene somehow.

Patches of relict subalpine rainforest cling to the sheltered areas where frost is lessened.

Patches of yellow hair clung to the misshapen scalp, and when the thing opened its mouth to scream against its own image, the broken, ragged-edged teeth glittered in the light.

Patches of red honeysuckle wallpaper cling to the walls, and the entrance to the old root cellar where the family stored milk and eggs in the days before refrigeration still stands in the backyard.

Patches of skin mummified by the cold, dry winds still clung to the bones.

Patches of grass clung to the stone banks of the cutting, which were the colour and almost the texture of soot.

Patches of scrub and weeds clung to the land, barely surviving.