A short literary scene or description?

The old woman sat on the creaky porch swing, its rhythmic sway a counterpoint to the ceaseless chirping of crickets. A single, pale bulb cast a dim glow on her weathered face, etched with a lifetime of stories. Her gaze, though, was fixed on the moon, a silver coin hanging heavy in the inky sky. Her fingers, gnarled and worn, traced the worn patterns on the faded calico quilt draped across her lap, each stitch a whispered memory. The air, thick with the scent of honeysuckle and damp earth, carried the distant wail of a train, a mournful symphony that seemed to echo the unspoken sorrows hidden in the woman's heart.