I wrote a sequel:
The waning moon still glows brightly to the west on this crisp autumn night. The chill, a constant reminder of the coming bitter cold. The trees, now bare, can no longer muffle the distant horn of a far-off train as it winds along the banks of the restless rushing river. The air is dry and my breath lingers in front of me, like a slow moving cloud as it disappears into the night. The suburban landscape is illuminated au clair de lune; shadows stand tall, contrasting the grey-scale view of dark. To the east, the sky is clear; devoid of clouds or the mirrored solar light from our satellite prime. The draw of countless points of light, piercing the vacuum beyond our home, leaves me staring up. To be embraced by the epic rays of celestial delight. To, all at once, feel both alone in an infinite universe yet prized by the creator, gifted with the universe’s wondrous bloom. But this fucking street light!