Old friends
A nod of the head, or the tilt of a hat. A soft stroke over the gnarled bark. A quick glimpse or a loving look through the camera's lens. No matter how fleet or intense the meeting, we always look up our old friends when we take a walk through the neigbourhood. This tree graces the pavement in front of Stuart's grandmother's house. Grandma is no longer there, but I hope the tree will remain. With the lavender. And the white roses. I don't recall ever seeing this tree at Christmas time. It seems to spring to life during autumn. It stands proud on the corner, just past Eleven Little Ears. The landmark tree at the Botanical Gardens, just around the block from the other trees. The Power Van roars past it. Every Christmas we wish we could decorate this magnificent one. The curly-wurly trees on the green. Some friends are no more. We will never forget you. Die Rok Kiepersol. ...