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Winter Birch
by Twila Wood
When
snow draped
our
front birch in cotton candy,
stacked
cold sugar upon each limb,
I’d
swing one drooping branch
for
a shower of dazzling powder,
sprinkling
my face with magic
of
a million tiny diamonds.
At
night she froze
into
a white-haired ghost,
floating
in the brittle air outside
my
bedroom window. Wind weaved
through
her icy tresses in tinkling
chimes,
moon beams peeked
through
her strands in chilling glow.
Her
frosted waterfall sparkled
through
the morning fog;
by
noon, her explosion
stunned
the blue sky. Graceful
crystals
clung to her branches
like
dainty pinwheels, spinning
enchantment into winter.