Naked Birches at Night

I wonder if the white birches feel naked next to their pine neighbors who shed no leaves in the fall. While the birches lose their cover, pines keep their needles. Are the birches jealous or perhaps resentful? I’ve walked past these pines regularly for several weeks. They stand out, white and narrow in the fuzzy and pokey ocean of green pines. Often, I relate to how exposed they feel. I question my own choices. And like them, I feel surrounded by strong characters. At night, however, the darkness provides security and cover for all. The trees are equal. They may change colors for all we know when it’s pitch black.

My steps are slow and intentional on the dirt path back to my apartment. There is no snow on the ground, but I watched the first flakes fall around lunchtime. With each step, my feet crunch the tiny rock elements. I remember a clip from when I taught video production. It showed how Foley artists use sand for the sound of snow. The sound of footfalls rise up to my ears and I can see the snow. I’ve practically time traveled to January when I’ll walk the same path and have similar sounds along the way.

I’m reminded of my earlier thoughts when I look up into the glaring lights that dot the path. My night vision vanishes, blinding me for a moment. Standing tall in the presence of the intruding light is a stand of birch trees. They’re surrounded by the thicker pines, like freshmen pinned to lockers by bullies. I’m half tempted to tell the pines to back off.

Winter is fast approaching. Or perhaps, it has already arrived. I see snow on the mountains even if nothing has stuck in the valley here. Temperatures continue to hover around thirty-five or forty, slowly dropping every few days. The nights are as long as last week felt (or is that just me?). The birches must be satisfied with that. They can shape shift all they want when the lamps shut off and plunge the path into darkness.

Darkness is the absence of light, I learned one day in high school. It’s perhaps one of three things I retain from that period. In the absence of light, anything can happen. The birches transform into towering trunks, plucking needles from the pines. I don’t see birches that way; they’re much too introverted and nervous. But I like the idea that unnatural things happen in the darkness. We can’t possibly see it or the space time continuum would be ruined! Let reality have its fun. Let it be lazy too. In the absence of light, perhaps everything is absent. Things cease to exist until light forces them into our sight.

While birches lose their leaves to survive winter, pines must maintain their needles. Birches represent changing ourselves, adapting to our environments. Pines represent courage and resilience. There is another way to look at it. Birches are strong enough (and smart enough) to retain enough energy in their roots and trunk for the winter. Pines have to keep their needles to stay alive. In that sense, maybe birches feel confident without their leaves.

The birches are ready for winter. And while I don’t feel nearly as prepared or excited, I do enjoy the cool air on my cheeks. The dry breeze wraps its cold fingers around my own. For a short moment, I’m ready for winter to arrive. Up ahead, the school building hails me with warmth. I bid the naked, but confident birches a respectful farewell. My steps alter between snow and dirt. I imagine that if I don’t look down, it could be both.

Moving in to CVA