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Standing in the corner of the park, a giant stands watch over everything and everyone. Cars can be seen, smelt, and mostly heard as they rush by trying to get somewhere in time. The air here seems to be the purest possible, until another old car screams by showing a fraction of the impurities present. There is a swarm of insects in the opposite corner from the giant, racing around at insane speeds. All the while, a lone crow watches, waiting for a chance to try out his wits against the bugs. There is grass covering most of the park except for some bare spots.
In a corner of the park a giant tree stands watch. Like a plate of armor, the thick gray skin flows over her whole body. Except for a few places, where there is an invisible force holding it at bay, grayness masks her essence completely. Only close to the ground does this alligator armor fail to cover her entire body. It is as if she had been abused for the first few years of life, leaving open scars for everyone to see and places for the insects to feed on her. Some blades of grass are taking advantage of this absence of protection, growing in the holes between her skin. Around these scars, her skin folds down onto itself letting you see how thick the armor really is (maybe an inch or so). Farther from the ground her skin starts to show a pattern: diamonds repeating over and over again.
Right at the base she is split, not like someone or something is responsible, but more like the seed split right after it sprouted. What is left can be described as Siamese twins, still connected but leaving two different entities, each one going its separate way. A little further from the ground both once again decide they don’t like who they have become. Unlike a human, she has the choice to let part of her go one way and part go another. So both split again, losing size as they reach for the sky.
At this point, smaller arms begin to appear, except these arms aren’t reaching for the sky, they are reaching parallel to the ground. These arms split numerous times as well, as if they can’t decide which direction they want to grow. They support hundreds of little green hands, each one doing its small part to support the bigger being.
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The grass grows in patches, some greener than the nicest day in Ireland, others struggling for the slightest green hue. A few end up a yellow-brown, like the color of aspens changing in fall, about to lose all their leaves. Other places in the park are bare, almost as if the ground didn’t have enough nutrients to support grass. In still other places the blades are bending over, genuflecting almost as if they are kneeling before some great entity. Telling a story of earlier in the day or even the week when heavy objects were place over the blades forcing them into groveling. These objects that were presumably tents had very recently been removed. Other blades stand straight up as if to reach for the heavens in thanks for not being smashed. This creates what looks like the famous crop circles of England, except for the fact that the kneeling grass is more in the shape of rectangles and squares rather than circles.
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