Just yesterday, like a postscript to its own end, winter returned to lay heavy snow on what had been blooming.
I looked up at the scene. The tree seemed to speak to me without me understanding its language as if I had, after all, only the neutral vision of an animal. No danger in sight, only the virtual protection of a city besieged by a little snow.
There were eyes only for it today, so much it made itself desired. Nor did it keep its promises for the city, as it always does.