Madrona

Every summer, Madrona molts. The Pacific madrone sheds its red-brown bark in curling strips, revealing smooth new skin beneath — chartreuse, then gold, then russet again — a tree that changes clothes with the seasons on the cliffs above the cold sea. Beachcombers collect her curls; artists paint the transition; the Painted Bark faction treats her shedding as the year's great fashion event. She takes it lightly. "It is only bark," she says, though she poses for the painters anyway. Her berries feed the winter birds; her twisted limbs lean over the water like listeners. Asked whether the shedding hurts, she laughs — a sound like bark curling. "Growing," she says, "is the only pain I respect. The rest is just wardrobe."