She stands at the gate of my daughter’s property on Vancouver Island. She is old and the “tree guy” says she’s on her way out. The white branch fell off during a winter storm.

She has lots of places where bark isn’t growing and the white inner core of her boughs can be seen. But she’s opening up new leaves and keeps on doing her “ tree” thing. At her wide base flowers and moss are well established. The daffodils that were blooming at her roots are over but she’s got plenty of forget-me-nots and sturdy thistles to keep her company.

I sat out in the sun, tempered by a brisk wind this afternoon. I was reading a wonderful book but finally, feeling rather chilly and curious about a raven visiting my tree I went in.

The raven was making a strange call, like a couple of notes on a flute. It was a far cry from Poe’s croak, but my daughter assured me it was his Spring call. Sure enough, he flew off out of the newly green branches of my companion towards the sea. That tree has such spirit. Let her hold on another decade or so.