Delicate. Translucent. Golden.
Everywhere I go in the winter woods I find young beech trees, their leaves quaking in the wind. I could lie under them for hours, a natural mobile, light shining through and illuminating the leaves that persist through winter. This time of year is when I am most thankful for the beech trees: for their golden light that draws me to them and envelops me, and for the conversations they have as I walk past, their rattle softly stirring up in the wind.