One Year Later

Deodar planted last summerin Dan's honor by the Tai Chi Chuan Association.
It looks healthy and strong and a little bit taller.

I drove into Hollywood this morning and met M for an early lunch. Afterwards we went to Bronson Canyon to Dan's tree in commemoration of the anniversary of his death. We didn't really have a plan for what we'd do there other than depositing a small amount of Dan's ashes, but M pointed out that someone had tied a small white ribbon to the tree. Maybe someone else had visited and left it as a tribute? What could we leave? Locks of hair? Thread pulled from our clothing? We wanted to leave something too, so we tore thin strips from our business cards and tied the ends of the ribbon around them.

As we stood in silence for a couple of minutes next to the tree, I could hear a raven calling. I saw a lot of ravens on my trip to Alaska and also heard the story of indigenous Tlingit people's creation myth wherein the Raven brings the world into being by stealing the sun. The Raven is sometimes called the Owner of Daylight and is thought of as the creator of the world. So there we were, the raven, the tree, M, and me.

When I got back home and checked my email, the daily poem from Poets.org was this:

He Prefers Her Earthly Thomas Hardy

This after-sunset is a sight for seeing, Cliff-heads of craggy cloud surrounding it.      —And dwell you in that glory-show? You may; for there are strange strange things in being,                Stranger than I know. Yet if that chasm of splendour claim your presence Which glows between the ash cloud and the dun,      How changed must be your mortal mould! Changed to a firmament-riding earthless essence                From what you were of old: All too unlike the fond and fragile creature Then known to me….Well, shall I say it plain?      I would not have you thus and there, But still would grieve on, missing you, still feature                You as the one you were.

Of Tributes and Trees

This magically appeared in my Dropbox yesterday. After the tree planting ceremony a couple of weeks ago various friends asked me what kind of a tree had been planted in Dan's honor. I was at the ceremony, saw the tree, took a picture of it--but I had no idea, really. Some kind of evergreen, I said.

So it's a deodar. One of my favorite trees, though I've never seen a young one, which I guess is why I couldn't put a name to it. In adulthood, deodars are massive beings with spreading branches that seem like arms, ready to envelop everything. I fell in love with them decades ago when my children began attending a school whose campus was graced with nearly century old deodars. And the only Christmas attraction that I truly love is Christmas tree lane in Altadena. I've even blogged about it. Really, click on that Altadena link and look at the photo. At Christmastime the trees are hung with colored lights, and people walk silently in the dark or drive two miles an hour with their headlights off under the spell of those trees. The street is as  hushed and holy as any church.

When Dan and I took walks together, he always seemed impressed because I knew the names of trees and flowers. When I moved from the San Gabriel Valley to the beach, I took on i.d.-ing birds, and he would always listen while I explained how to tell a long-billed curlew from a whimbrel or a marbled godwit. How did I know these things, he'd ask as if I were some sort of naturalist genius. I've always thought that because I'm a writer, it's just my job to know.

Anyhow. A deodar.
And two Christmases ago, there he was.
My mom looks about a million years older now.
Well, so do I.