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In June 2020 we masked up and went to friends to celebrate the life of a tree that was burned in the fires in 2017. She seemed to be fine, but she couldn’t recover. Two traumas: Fire and Pandemic. I’m a poet and a photographer. I took this picture from the road as we drove to their home. My poem: Black Walnut In the distance a tall black walnut tree, an eclipse of her former self. Her branches, darkened by fire, reach toward Venus and the moon glowing luminescent. We approach with trepidation and the burden of farewell. Tomorrow brings sunrise, chainsaws, and men who may or may not appreciate she is Malka,* supreme in her realm. Sitting on the ground beneath her once verdant beauty, our mouths hold words, splendid jewels of love rendered into poems to surround her, a blanket shimmering with silver and gold threads. In the moonlight we reach arms around her trunk, hold strong to who she was as Malka: A haven for birds nesting, boys climbing, small rabbits shading. Nothing left to say but farewell and thank you for the hundred years of your presence. ©J.V. *Hebrew Origin: Queen Great news: Several months later a new young shoot grew from the stump of her life. I try to be optimistic. Though 2021 with no end in sight for the Pandemic is a challenge. I have started taking distant walks with very close friends, masked and grateful. I do walk every day with our dog. He doesn't wear a mask.
February 18, 2021