 Thank you all of you for coming and I'm not that political in my poem today. This is impressions really of an area very close to the North Beach Library in District 3. This is called, it's where I live too, impressions near Chestnut and Mason Street, San Francisco, Cedar, Shadows and the Moon. Cedar, cedrus, source of perfume, incense, burned with myrtle by Noah after the flood. Cedar groves, dwelling places of the gods, of ancient Sumerians, wood for temples, instruments, sarcophagi, resilient, moth resistant for trunks and homes of Cedar. Cedar thrives in Lebanon and Syria and Turkey with cones that hang a year before growing wings so seeds may fly far, far away. Its brothers in the Himalayas, the Odar Cedar, grow as high as 250 feet. Cedar, cedrus, graces ancient civilizations with beauty. Thousands of years, eons of Cedar, some of its oldest children have their homes in San Francisco on Mason Street, where I live too. Where through my window across the street from the Cedar trees a moving shadow blends into a green carpet as we ourselves move as shadows into sun. Shadows are our wisdom and our questions. They slide inside our understanding, invading sleep and sorrow, fading into dreams. Dreams of the moon sliding right through Coyt Tower over the cedars and the shadows like a quarter inserted in a child's bank. I'd like to pick up Coyt Tower and rattle it to make sure the moon is still inside.