Just when summer begins to hum, Erie is dusted in a strange kind of snow. Every June, the Eastern Cottonwood trees release their ghost-fluff—billowing white seeds that drift through the streets like whispers from another season. Sidewalks vanish beneath the softness, lawns blur into frost-like haze, and the air feels bewitched. It’s not winter, but it looks like it. A fleeting wonder, born of trees and timing, that turns the city into a dreamscape. No storm, no chill—just nature playing dress-up in the middle of June.