Just looking out from the terrace, a small eucalyptus grove stands in the line of sight towards the plain. It's there since I've been here for the first time, twenty-six years ago. It has experienced its lows and highs; quite a few time ago it was even partially cut down, probably by someone who wanted to build some cottages in its place. But it survived, grew up and flourished again. Since a couple of years a few golden orioles have been spending their spring and summer there and I usually wake up at dawn with their flutey songs filling the air. This grove is one of the small things of your life that you love, even though they are not outstanding and just go unnoticed by other people; actually, it's small and half-hidden by pines and other trees closer to my terrace.

I've always been fascinated by the richness of the greens of the foliage, contrasted by the smooth and pale grey, almost white, of the trunks and branches. In the past years I've tried to portray it in a photo many times, but always ending up with no keepers. All those attempts weren't able to convey the image of the grove I have in my mind.

Early this morning, under a slight overcast sky, it looked almost perfect. I used a long tele to keep it tight in the frame and exclude the things that surround it — cottages and other buildings down in the plain.

Though these photos aren't looking good as I wished, they are a good start, at last.