Poplars lined the end of our backyard, dying almost as soon as they were planted. Yet, they were enough to shade my childhood hideout from passerby.
The giant pine towered over our house. It’s top reaching into heaven, and its roots tripping us as we careened across the grass.
The old maple deep in the woods took time to hike to and climb, but it shared our girlish confidences. We lay in the branches listening to the creek wander by.
The birches were the most mysterious and infrequent beauty. Their white trunks gashed by black stripes, zebras in the snow.