None of these trees are what one would exactly call alive. Today we went on what I think of as the right-hand hike up into Griffith Park - the one that starts off by the side of a golf course where one's in danger of getting hit on the head by a badly whacked ball (I pooh-poohed Alice's apprehension about this, which seemed to me to be an exaggerated form of disaster-oriented magical thinking: a minute later a little round golf ball dropped down through the trees and rolled and bounced off down the road in front of us). We hadn't been up here in years: this was the area that was particularly badly burned in the big fire a few years back, and was closed for some time. It was amazing (but this is California) to see how much has regrown. All the same, there are still some big bare skeletons, like this one up by the water tank, which itself seems to have been repainted with its arboretum of camouflaging foliage.