We don’t have deep woods in the part of California where I live, so I have to let my imagination fill in the gaps not filled by the reality of a place.  The way light hits a tree is one of the beautiful wonders of nature.  I’m fully aware that most of the wonderful trees and shrubs we enjoy in San Diego are not native to the place; but after long enough time, and it’s been long enough now, the trees belong here.  Everybody knows the eucalyptus trees came to us from Australia, New Zealand, and places like Papua New Guinea and Tasmania… but they belong here now.  I can’t imagine many California landscapes without them… or without the ubiquitous palms that aren’t native to California. 

I despair of forest fires and diseases that kill trees.  I am saddened by the defacing of trees by those people who insist on carving their initials in the bark.  One of my favorite trees, a rainbow eucalyptus, standing unfortunately close to a path and parking area behind the Museum of Photographic Arts has become a target of thoughtless morons.  Every year when the time comes for the tree to shed its outer skin,  some of the carving is shed away; but the carvers are soon back to spoil the rainbow.

Liking trees, all kinds of trees, all shapes and sizes, makes tolerance of all living things easier for anybody who has learned to admire them. 

I think the trees where I got the bark pictures are Quercus Suber, or bark oak. The images make mysterious abstract prints.   All the trees in these pictures are growing in Balboa park.