Yesterday, I visited Jack London's grave. That's it above, a large stone that was rolled, in accordance with his wishes, over his ashes on a favored knoll in his estate in the Valley of the Moon.
The photo below shows me there. I wrote a bit in my notebook. Then I found an oak leaf and signed it and tossed it onto the stone.
Jack was a fellow writer. He would have understood instantly what I meant by that.