City Of One

On a strange, windy, and seemingly endless Wednesday night, clouds suddenly appear directly above me; and directly in front me, there is a gorgeous blood-orange tree, its arboreal branches spreading beautifully in every direction. The wind blows cold, bone-chillingly cold. A strong gust of wind pushes past me, strumming through my hair. The blistering wind is razor-blade-sharp, so sharp it felt as if I were being sliced across the face with a knife.