White birch has become my favorite tree, especially in winter. A family of three trees stand together at the edge of the wood and nod as I walk by. Fog at the base of their trunks after the recent rainstorm swirls and settles with an evening exhale. Bark shreds and peels back in the wind creating horizontal patterns and uneven surface, exposing grey braille underneath, winter white fabric and at dusk, a faint pink hue; new skin under wrinkled layers. These birch are the local home for our resident golden hawk who chases and scatters blue jay and sparrow with the whoosh of a wing. On occasion, it provides a perch for the silver white owl whose stewardship is ever present. Branches shift and drop as bitter winds howl, bending 'neath the weight of heavy midnight snow and then rebounding in the noon sunshine.

Strong. Flexible. Both yielding and unyielding. Dancing with the rhythm of the season.

sending peace.