28 March 2020. Redwood Tree.
The house remains empty, but the tree has grown large, seen towering over the southeast fence (a bit of wattle tucked up against the concrete block of an old shed). The tree is huge--but then all redwoods are imposing. The top was crooked for a few years, took a turn to the left, but now it's righted itself and shades some of the sun each morning. We were worried about this at the time--just how much?--but in fact, the effect is pleasant, a variation in the light.
There were people there once, in the house--I think the family still owns the place. A mother alone with her rambunctious sons. I remember two of them crawling along the top of the fence here, years back--what boys will do--incommensurate. I was cast in the role of the old guy (then in my forties!)--or the enemy in any case--they had no idea what innate sympathy I had for their freedom. (I'm lying.) But not to be its unwanting recipient.
We have a lot of them today, unwanting recipients. Our cares and suspicions, if only out of an imagined necessity--because, really, you can't see the little buggers. 1/400th the thickness of a human hair. Now what does that mean?
The moon on an autumn night--coming up through the trees to the east. Succos time. A heavy golden medallion shining out from between the branches, you can almost see it lifting up.
No wonder we share mooncakes--and so much else...
