Diebenkorn Tree

I don't remember any more why I call these solitary oaks Diebenkorn Trees. I looked briefly on line to see if I could find a painting of his that immortalized such a tree, but I couldn't find one. Something about the golden hills, that round shape, the shadow. So very California. This particular view is from Highway 152, just outside of Gilroy, the Garlic Capital of the World. A careful observer can spot the reflection of Mr S, who is driving as I try to snap pictures out the window without dropping my camera at 70 miles an hour.

We are heading home from Yosemite a day early. My altitude sickness was not going away, and we decided to just pack it in and leave. It was so hard to admit that I was too sick to hike up the river, and too miserable to spend another dark sleepless night. I'm angry at my body for being so sensitive, but a fat lot of good that does. A logical choice would be to move to a campsite in the valley (only 4,000 feet elevation), but the place is so popular that spaces have to be booked many months in advance. The Full sign is always up at the kiosk. So, on our way home. Another long day in the car.


Hipstamatic: Jane lens; Dylan film