Day 24: Yesterday, my little Japanese Maple was fully clothed in a garment of lipstick-red hues, a harlot beside the demure dogwood whose cheeks are yet barely rouged. This morning I discovered her en deshabille, her gown thrown on the ground beneath the rail fence as if begging Jack Frost to have his will of her. Yet tears stain the fabric she wantonly shed because Jack paid her no visit last night, and now she stands naked and embarrassed.
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