A walk through the winter woods reveals them with ease.
The beech trees, Fagus grandifolia, whose plain and smooth gray bark sets them apart with an elegance most others lack, furrowed and scaled. So vulnerable to those wanting to leave their mark upon them for the ages.
The sweetest leggy one, like the unblemished face of a slender, young girl, freckles dotting the bridge of her nose.
I love the beech trees.
With no leaves and no green coloring, living off the roots below as a parasitic plant.
For them, indeed, “Life’s a Beech.”