Memories of Birches

This morning I woke early and went for a walk in the Enchanted Grove. The air was crisp and cool. Animals were still huddled in their nests and dens keeping each other warm. But I wanted to see the trees. The trees which reminded me of another life in the way northern lands. The Birches.

They are like soldiers in the woods, standing tall with their crisp white uniforms. Their bodies lined with slashes of browns and blacks as to denote their ranking. Their side arms made of thin leaves which often rustle in the wind. Their helmets the greens and yellows of their foliage. They fall to attention as I wander amongst them. Not daring to show me their aliveness, they stand proud as if to guard our Manor and Magical Places.

I look toward the Faraway Tree and wonder if there are lands above it where birches are as lively as the sprites which in habit this woods. Whatever would they say if they could talk? I could imagine them dancing – the hambo no doubt, light on their feet and always with the beat. Such good dancers these fine trees would be. I wished I had worn my dancing shoes just in case.