California at times reminds one of elsewhere. Over a week ago, during a downpour, I remarked to a cigar-smoking gentleman that the horrid weather resembled Holland in mid-summer, especially the afternoon when a market merchant's eel boxes overflowed on the central square in Valkenswaard and we ended up trying to scoop the desperate creatures out of the gutters before they all escaped down the drains.
The Dutch love eels. No, not as pets.
The rain reminded me of that, but not the temperature.
The other day when the precipitation drummed on the corrugated iron of the awning under which I sheltered with a pipe, it recalled South East Asia.
Again, not the temperature.
On Thursday, when I took public transit to a doctor's appointment, we passed by several trees downed or damaged by Wednesday evening's storm. Because of the terrain in San Francisco, some of the most beautiful trees, decades old, have not been able to grow a deep and durable fundament, and remain lightly anchored. Almost nothing here has a buttress root system.
Ficus, kapok, and durio spp. do not thrive in this climate. We're not as frozen as New York, but in the wet season we're still rather beastly. Too cold for tropical timber. The trees that do thrive here seldom house ghosts.
Fig trees (pohon waringin), especially, are prone to supernatural occupancy.
The trailing aerial roots, once they hit the ground, become a dense barrier of columns or supplementary trunks. In Indonesia, the pontianak is said to hide within, though many specimens house spirits which are protective of the locality, and some hide the ghosts of saintly people associated with the locality's Islamic traditions or witch craft and daemon worship.
Light incense near them for good luck.
Especially if gambling.
RANDOM AFTERTHOUGHT
Obviously, we need to plant those here, for our lottery tickets.
Which are San Francisco's most popular folk religion.
Ahead of veganism, crystal healing, and pot.
We'll burn sage. Instead of sandalwood.
Oh wait. No. Sage is purifying. We are all about heterodoxy here.
So we don't need that. The more muddled, the merrier.
Cold wet weather. Cabin fever, addlement.
A constant need for warm beverages.
The season of our discomfort.
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