Over the past few months the white arms of leafless birch trees have been a welcome contrast to the dark shadows of barren oaks. But now, with buds of green beginning to form everywhere, those same white branches trigger impatience within me.
It seems an eternity since I last heard fully leaved trees amplifying the rushing wind of an approaching storm. Too long has it been since I sat beneath a tree and stared up into pinpoints of sunlight flickering between dancing leaves.
I long for those silver-white branches to again become lost amidst a sea of green.
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