On a mild March day, the woodland floor can seem to wake before the trees have heard the news. The canopy is still a gray net overhead. Last year’s leaves are flattened and wet. Then, almost at ankle height, small flowers begin taking possession of the light: bloodroot opening like white paper, trout lily lifting yellow bells above mottled leaves,…
By November, most deciduous trees have become honest silhouettes. The maple has emptied itself. The serviceberry is bare. The birch has given its leaves to the path. Then, at the woodland edge or in a young hedge, a beech or oak still stands with dry copper leaves clinging to every twig, rattling softly whenever the wind moves through. It can…

