The Last Persimmon of Winter

The fiery orb is a vision. Perched high above the heads of passing silhouettes it stares back into a black landscape sketched out by the fresh snow. The ornament on the grey tree unnoticed. It sits lonely on a branch illuminated by the adjacent streetlight. Snow falls gracefully unaffected by its presence, just as it has seemed unaffected by the weather for all these months.

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