Along the highway up to Montreal
The forest changes in its composition.
The paper birch is hardly there at all,
And then a little north, it takes position.
While further south the early maple spray
Is confident enough to hazard red,
And scattered here and there, a willow may
Be yellow green -- up north, the birch instead
Shows starkly white against the other trees,
Abused and ragged from the closing season,
From icy winds that brought it to its knees
In winter, that it loves beyond all reason.
It puzzles me a little, driving by:
Without this bitterness, the birch may die.
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Alysa Salzberg
Melissa Miles McCarter
Scarlett Sumac
jlsathre
Matt Paust
Jowita Bydlowska
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Comments
It is NOT SPRING in Montreal!
On the way up, I was looking at the maples, and Edna St. Vincent Millay's "The Wood Road" came to mind:
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-wood-road/
The phrase "maple spray" is hers. At least, that is how it came to me. And I do love her poetry.
From icy winds that brought it to its knees
In winter, that it loves beyond all reason."
wow...glad to have discovered you.
Y Heron - I'm glad it touched you. And thanks for your post earlier, it meant a lot.