The Birches have begun their pre-autumn strip-tease.
It must be the shafts of amber sun and dry air in the morning tickling their golden fronds and sienna-tinged greenery to the ground.
My heart skips a beat at the sight of their undressing for it makes me think—
Fall is coming.
Yet not so fast. It is only early August and there are blistering days ahead…dog days they say. The Birches need their leavery for shielding from late summer sun’s gaze. Understandably it turns its eye on the beauty disrobing before it…graceful arms of gold and emerald dripping with morning dew.
The sun will have to wait for the full reveal. And so will I. Yet the wait will be worth the watching as birches tease the month long.
Note on the sketch: these three birches grow right next to our back deck. As I sit in the mornings, I sometimes draw them, their swaying arms reaching over to me and beyond into the yard. It is by them that I know when summer has begun the turn into autumn. Gold and brown leaves begin to pepper the deck.
They are also a constant reminder of one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost.