there is a stand of eucalyptus down the street from our house that i have occasion to admire on saturdays and sundays when i walk the dogs at 11 a.m. (yes, it’s scheduled, shut-up.)
but the trees, these particular ones, have taken my fancy, what with their peeling bark that falls to the pavement with a nice cracking sound–loud enough to startle you if you haven’t been paying attention–which happens when your eye has been diverted by the century plant on the right, or one of the dogs rooting around in the dirt, eating god-knows-what.
they frame a distant street, across the chasm of the canyon, that leads straight up and over a hill, disappearing into the blue of the sky, a finger beckoning you to follow (although the street is a dead-end, the views of the ocean at its terminus are quite spectacular, i must show you someday.)
the sun plays with the trunks and branches, the wind weaves its way through drooping leaves, the sound whispery and scratching at your earlobe. it is magical enough to weave a spell around you as you stand there, your mouth agape (well, mine was), dog leashes wrapped around your legs; one headed north, the other south, but you don’t notice, because you’re listening to what the eucalyptus have to tell you.