Dear reader,
Young Princess Elizabeth planted an oak tree when she visited Vancouver in 1951. I found it today while walking through QE Park.
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A plaque was installed to mark the spot. Without it, you would have no way of knowing it was anything special. It looks like an oak tree, yes, but only as much as any other oak tree.
In fact, the plaque is easy to miss too, even if you walk right past it. You only notice it because you see the yellow streamers hanging off the lower branches. Even in the softest breeze, they dance. When you tear your eyes away, you notice the letters at the base of the trunk.
A few weeks ago, when I met Dan and Jude in the park, Dan told me about the tree and the plaque, and where they could be found. It has become a shrine of sorts. Or a grave, perhaps. I can tell there are visitors. Someone has recently put fresh sunflowers.
As I stood with my back to the sun, my lengthening shadow creeping slowly toward my subject, I considered the inevitability of it all.
Flowers, stuffed animals, and letters have been left here, in mourning for the death of Queen Elizabeth. It has been a few weeks since then, so the flowers have wilted. The gifts and letters gather dust. You can see the fading receipts of the bouquets, strewn by the wind.
Time takes its toll.
Dear reader, this is Year Three of writing to you every week. I feel like we are doing well together. If so (or if not) say something in the comments. I would love to hear from you.
Thank you for your time and attention. This Friday, a new episode of the Podcast. See you then!
In my latest post, I was walking around the San Gabriel Mission and thought of you. And how the angels (haha - angles!) and curves and shadows played against each other. I was imagining what you would focus on and what little slice of humanity you would choose to highlight.
I chose a construction worker in my mind and saw the image you drew of him and his tools and his craft.
I believe your platform allows one's mind to draw with another's pen.
Thanks
Ric