Tree Fetish

Every fall and spring, for a period of just a few days, the light of late afternoon shines at just the right angle through a close-spaced line of eucalyptus trees along Western Drive. And the trunks turn red. Glorious, glowing, luminous red, like coals in a roaring fire, like the columns of some crazed temple to an unknown firegod. Earth as we know it is not supposed to look like this.

Of course, I am destined never, ever to get a picture of this. Even though I drive down Western several afternoons a week.

When the conditions are right, I never have the camera with me. And I forget to bring it the next day. Or I do remember, but the day turns cloudy and we get no sunset, or there's just enough cloud to weaken the light and dilute that wondrous red.

Or I get there at the right time with the right conditions -- but the magic few days have passed, the angle of the sun has changed, and all I get is pretty sunset light.

Here are my attempts for this year, taken last weekend. Just a couple of days too late. Dammit. Click on any to see a 1000-pixel-wide version.


The ragged, peeling bark of the eucalyptus has a wonderful texture in the high-relief light of dawn or dusk.





Western Drive is pretty much the western boundary of Santa Cruz. Beyond lies hill, fields, canyons, redwood forests, cougar and deer, hobbits and trolls. I like living in a town where the country begins at the city limits.


Give me a good sunset with good shadow, and the day is never a waste.


I like these shots, but once again I failed to capture the red-drenched images that I obsess over. By my calculations, the Season of Red will return to Western Drive sometime in late January. My camera will ride with me. Every day. This time for sure. I swear. I swear.