At the back of the Monterey Senior Centre on Hampshire.
They have not yet started to fall.
The parking lot on Monterey. One does not simply approach an arbutus tree: one pauses and admires first.
Once I was sitting by the ocean under an arbutus tree and bits of the peeling bark were falling and making a small commotion of sound.
Reminds me of a flexed arm.
You walk away slowly from an arbutus tree, with a backward glance or two.
Back on Hampshire by the Avenue. This tree will turn bronze and the leaves last and last and last – a few still on the tree come spring.
This was on the ground already, more yellow still than bronze, curled up as if about to sleep.
A gaze-stopper/traffic-pauser on the corner of Victoria and Granite. Each year it bursts to attention.
The stone wall alongside the Art Gallery.
A changing work of art.