Gray-green leaves rattled in the wind. Eucalyptus trees
Weeks later, after the rain had stopped and a cold wind had started up, we drove to Oakland, up to the hills, and surveyed the damage on a street so narrow that Tom had to back the van out when we left. One house, untouched. Next door, all that remained was a scarred foundation.
"This'll mean jobs for a lot of people," Tom said, meaning himself too. "All this," and he swept his hand wide, "means construction work."
If I could record that gesture, I would see just what I want to see. It is a wholly unsentimental moment.
I would use it then as a point of reference, like a scar.
But it's not really like that at all.