The Hills

The HillIt’s almost impossible to envision these hills on fire more than 24 years ago. Sitting exposed to the burning heat of the Northern California sun, a calming effect. A welcome burn. The columns of cyprus tress stand tall; a trifecta of green reaching for the clear warm sky. A sky that seems close enough to touch from high atop this Oakland Hill. The tropical green leaves of the lemon and grapefruit trees seem yellow as the sun pairs with the gentle breeze to enliven their dance.

The carefully placed earthen rocks weave a parameter around the rosemary and mulberry bushes. Dry. Thirsting for water to bring their majesty into full display. The dirt paths that carpet this outdoor oasis, leading you up to the wooden, weathered bench that sits atop the hill – it’s perch.

The squawks of the blue jays demanding their presence be known, lead your eyes up to the almost cloud-less sky, just in time to catch the golden red tail of the resident hawk riding the wave of the breeze up, up, up…approaching the heavens.

The sparkling lights of the city below reflect the flashing movement of the cars – specks – like shooting stars. The thick, low-billowing cloud of smoke below evaporating into thickened air as a fire burns in the distance. At peace in this space. Damaged and reborn.

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