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I saw it, mid-walk with the dog, towering, spiky-leaved, and could not think of its name, a name even more beautiful than the tree— and that nothingness like fog, pressed against my eyes; a curtain of thick grey gauze annulled the dazzling world. But, over the tip of my tongue, a tiny, teasing, invisible angel, emissary of that glory, wings beating fast as a hummingbird’s, hovered. And made me think ambergris, made me think waterfall, then diverted me with false aralia, before rewarding me with sweet gum but not the name I longed for, until three long blocks to my door, when the angel became an iridescent bird, poking her wand into the burning roses, and the fog in my mouth melted like spun sugar liquidambar.
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