Two in one night, what's up!

So I decided that most of my writing is dark and often dreary and I wanted to change it up. I began thinking about the wonderful times had with my children at our local park. What started as a lovely piece on the wonders of our playground, turned into a short essay about poop. I don't know how I do it?:) This one is a work in progress but when it has been progressed I think I might post it at our local park.

Here is that essay:

The grass all but crunched beneath my feet. If it weren’t for the melting frost the grass would cease to squish and would burst into flames. Never have the blades been so parched for moisture. The ground counts, in drops, the iced dew that dabbles on the ragged grass. I step swiftly sideways to avoid the droppings that are quite certainly from a dog whose owner could not lazily stroll to the plastic bag receptacle to obtain a much needed and almost always provided baggie. Occasionally I reminisce about the rumors of coyotes in this area, somehow the possibility that this pile could be that of a wild animal makes it much more palatable. If only that were coyote poop I could excitedly show my children the wonders of wildlife. However, being highly trained in the identification of scat, I can correctly identify it as that of a negligent pet owner. This is a destination location. There is not a dog owner that visits this park that does not understand what their pet intends to do there. Clearly my children’s feet need not to tramp confidently, carelessly through a field. We are apparently undeserving of our soccer field, and kite flying meadow when a dog’s bowel is needy. We are accustomed to the inability of rolling down a hill at a moment’s notice. We are educated on the way in which to step nimbly over the obstacle. Do these dogs not head home with smears on their paws? Do they not recognize their own consequences and suffering? I wonder if the owners, noticing the dry ground, believed that their contribution to our park would provide earthly nourishment. Of course my justifications are only another sign of my ability to see half full.