A bona fide shade-tree mechanic towed that cruise ship of an automobile to his airplane hangar after he got home from the stock-car races. Thinking of exotics: I was driving a big-finned De Soto back from the Arkansas Delta. They have been around since the late Permian-250 million years. I don’t know the difference between the false and true monkey puzzle, except the true is from Chile and the false from Australia, and the former is endangered. The cones weigh ten pounds (the size of bocce balls) so if you are walking under the drop zone at the wrong moment, you will be taking the long-term dirt nap. I don’t know what it thinks it’s doing here. Her carpenter said, “Everything grows in California.” Almost: there is that wild-looking bunya-bunya (false monkey puzzle tree) in front of the historical museum. I said they didn’t like the salt in the air or the soil, and I said I didn’t expect to see a beech in California. At the ranch of a friend I said a bit about the beech and she asked whether any grew around here. Now that I am in California for a few months, my attention is easily diverted by the live oaks, redwoods, sycamores, junipers, cypresses, pines, yews, firs, buckeyes. Casting Deep Shade is the last work she completed before her death. Wright (1949–2016) was a poet from the Arkansas Ozarks whose 2010 work, One With Others, was a finalist for the National Book Award. From Casting Deep Shade, which will be published by Copper Canyon Press next month.
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