The Widow tree

There is a little white, hairy fluff on the grey sidewalk. In fact, there are tons of them spread all around, like early snowflakes settling on the flat ground for the first time. The wind delicately picks them up, and the glowing round pompoms whirl up and are tossed around the whole block, enacting an imaginary skipping-like dance. Tossed out and dancing all around their mother, the white widow. She stands tall there in the middle of the side street. She could have enchanted the darkest forests or sanctified the tallest of rocky summits, but this white widow is not even in the center of this side street. Hidden by all the monotone, dusty buildings and lost in the messy crowd of cheap cars, it can still find a way to enchant the few curious eyes. Dancing in mesmerizing, meditative swirls, the white widow makes the center of the stage hers again.