10,000 Words Part Six: Park

The park hated the night.
It hated Orion, clear, stark, towering over the creaking swings; refusing to be windswept.
It hated Ursa Minor, squatting impudently over the woods.
The moon, the moon, the moon.
The park resented the audacity of the stupid rock, glowing self importantly like that when the park’s own serviceable lamppost cast a far more practical quality of light than that cold glitter which greyed the grass and made the shadows the blacker.
As for the constellations, showy join-the-dots gimmicks, drawing the eye away from gracefully waving trees and furtive beasts.
Yes.
The park hated the night.