There’s a grove of trees on the hill in Hazard Park. Fir trees and some eucalyptus trees and a California fan palm grow on top of the hill, where somebody slept under the tall fir every night for half a year, rising before 9 AM. The trolley line once ran through the wash on this side, but the tracks were torn out maybe a decade ago. The sun rises behind that hill. My friends have gone around the other side of the hill, Reine and Julia and others went around the other side of the hill, summer thunder storms and winter rains went down behind the hill, JFK and RFK, Kruschev and Che, the Space Race and the War on Poverty, Richard Diebenkorn and Abstract Expressionism and whoever it was who used to sleep under the great fir tree has been gone for years. And the sun comes up over the hill.

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