The oak that used to watch
me twenty years ago was gone
one day. Huge, it was, in
the middle of an onion field.
A friend in summer, a skeleton
of beauty in winter, home
to hawks and crows. There's a Lowe's
there now, where they sell
oak flooring, oak tables,
oak of every kind, except living.
The old covered train trestle
that watched over
the Santa Clara River
is gone, too. I only just
noticed last week,
riding past the new
apartment complexes,
shopping centers,
and foreclosure signs
on my way to God knows where.
I wonder if they'll notice
when I'm gone, too. Gone
to find the oaks, and bridges
and history that California
left behind.
Look away, look away, look away.
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[image: a gorgeous giraffe I met recently. photo: Jennifer Sandlin]
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