“The Hidden Tree”
The tree was partially hidden there, between two plain, square buildings, its branches reaching out toward the street as though making a whispered plea for beauty, a caressing moan of soft-bloomed tenderness in a world of hard concrete. The blooms resembled clusters of snow recently fallen on the limbs, or feathery feelers from some velvet dream imagined by a surrealist painter. The limbs were wands of wonder, boas of seduction, fingers of appeal. They invited the passerby to leave the world of asphalt and cement and ascend rapturous into their outstretched arms.