Where We Don't Belong

I was treated last month to an adult birthday weekend in Palm Springs, and pulled out the old Holga and some of the Ilford Pan F I'd been wanting to throw into the Mamiya. I've been thinking that I'd like to put together a compilation of photos of palm trees, which I think the Holga render pretty well. There's something about both the camera and the tree that just isn't quite right. The most striking thing about the trip to the desert in August was that nothing there really belongs there. This is an arid, dusty, scrubby place. Manicured lawns - and palm trees - are alien, and they feel that way.