Sunday Dinners

For centuries, this hillside held through the worst winters, anchored by trees, brush, and grass, their roots holding on to one another and to the slope.

For decades, my mother held our babies, served Sunday dinners, and inquired after our lives.

Then came 2016. The Pioneer Fire started in July and burned into fall.

In 2020, my mother died.

The dead pines are still standing. Their roots remain in the ground, letting go a little more each year.

So are we.