the glory of the protagonist is always paid for by a lot of secondary characters
Outside the youth center, between the liquor store and the police station, a little dogwood tree is losing its mind; overflowing with blossomfoam, like a sudsy mug of beer; like a bride ripping off her clothes, dropping snow white petals to the ground in clouds, so Natureβs wastefulness seems quietly obscene. Itβs been doing that all week: making beauty, and throwing it away, and making more.