Tree washing

 

"What kine fish dat?" asked a new guy at the guard shack. "Fish in a tin," I responded, as I was wearing my past tense Tinned Fish cap, given me by a friend. "Oh, Pidgin!" he said, "Filipino!" 

 

At the top of the first hill, Lilith and I noticed that the beautiful mossy stone wall before the hillside recently denuded of trees, had been power washed. No moss, no ferns. From above, we heard the sound of a power washer "cleaning" another wall in the cemetery. On our way out, I told Scott it all had nearly made me laugh, the traffic snarl at the Temple, the naked stones. "They're power washing the trees," he said. Wondering if I'd heard correctly, I repeated, "they're power washing the trees?" Yes, they bring union guys in on Sunday now (they get double-time you know) to wash all the stuff off the trees. I pointed to the palms nearby, as yet unwashed of their lichen. Yes, those. "I've taken so many pictures of them." 

 

He said he hadn't heard that the East Wing rubble will be used to expand a golf course. It all seems of a piece, or pieces.