It's a place to dream about, white birches. Trees in winter. Stand in the center to breathe the scent, undefinably precious; unexpected. New snow. A Summer day would hold insects humming, grass whispering secrets barely heard but perfectly understood. Warm, amber scented Autumn afternoons inspire reflection. Milkweed pods silkily bursting. Some berries remain full like goblets of sweet wine. One morning, birds will sing their herald tunes. |