The Tale of Canuk WhiteWidow

This is the great tale of Canuk WhiteWidow. by Sherman Wallace. It was a humid and misty morning in early september, the fog had just began to lift off of the ground and dissipate as the sun began to peak its light through the treetops for the cannabis to raise its leaves in joy for a new day... and a new day it would be, a first day AND A WHITEWIDOW WAS BORN. not the biggest or the greenest nor the tallest or the bushiest, but by god, that little white widow was the strongest goddamn plant ive ever met in my life and anyone who would say otherwise, hasnt smoked dis shit boi. As her leaves began to unfurl for the first time to feel the warmth of the sun and a aura of harmony surrounded the garden and the birds sang as if this plant had been gifted by laughing buddha himself. animals of all kind came from all around to see the sprout of the white widow. I wasnt sure what they were doing and i assumed they wanted to eat it or something so i chased them all away with a broom. the night after its sprout the whitewidow drank from the sacred spraybottle which had 2ml of piranha to promote healthy roots in the early stages of growth and it was overwhelmed with a sense of purpose... a great purpose, to be the whitest, widowiest, stoniest, dankiest and dopest dank that ever done stank. looking up to the sky with pride and joy, the plant noticed a dark figure.