Hey Birches.

Late February in Georgia is when the birches start to have some company again.

They have spent the entire winter holding firmly to their bright vanilla leaves, outlasting all the other leafed-trees and dazzling onlookers like me. Starting in November, their dancing branches stand out more and more as the oranges and reds and yellows and browns and deep greens slowly but surely drift to the forest floor.

Birches don’t seem exceptional to me during the rest of the year, but winter is when they shine. And I mean quite literally. They shine. One of my favorite things to do on a cold winter day is to walk slowly into the woods, pause, breathe, and squint my eyes.

Try that, right now: breathe in slowly and squint your eyes. Did you notice that it made your mouth kind of smile? It’s almost like we’re supposed to do that, breathe and squint our eyes!

When you do that – pause and breathe and squint your eyes - in the winter in Georgia, the birch tree leaves look like café lights that have been carefully strung all across the forest. Sometimes I walk like that for long stretches at a time, just squinting my eyes, smiling, and breathing in the crisp air. I’m usually by myself because people don’t tend to walk in the woods as often in the winter as they do in warmer months, which is fine by me, but I swear they’re missing out.

They miss the birches in their glory.

If it’s a really cold day, I squint my eyes but with a little less intensity.

Try that, squint your eyes again, but not so much as you did before.

When I squint my eyes just like that while I’m walking in the woods, it’s as if I’m in a winter wonderland. The birches transform into snowy clumps and the ivory leaves on the ground shine like a snow-covered forest floor. I love doing this, especially in Georgia where we very rarely get even so much as a snow flurry.

But the birches…the birches offer a winter show that always makes me catch my breath.

I didn’t always know the name of birch trees. I’m not really a person who seeks to know the names of plants and trees, I’m more the type of person who just likes to be with them, among them. But they are really something else, and I’m glad to know them by name.

How is it exactly that those leaves hang on through bitter cold snaps, storms that tear through other trees leaving them bare, freezing rain, occasional sleet, and the short days?

I stop to feel and tug on birch leaves all the time, wondering this to myself. They’re almost like a miracle material, nearly indestructible.

I curl them. Fold them. Twirl them.

They hold strong.

I pop them. Pull them.

They bounce back.

They’re silky but crunchy; smooth but tough; pliable but hearty.

They withstand everything nature has to give so they can do what they’re meant to do: shine beautiful light throughout the darkest days.

It’s late February now and teeny, tiny shoots of green are sprouting out on small branches in the woods. When I squinted my eyes in the woods today at dusk, I could see sudden pops of color amidst the glowing birches.

Their work is almost done. They’ve been standing guard, weathering the storms, and lighting the way for months and slowly but surely the path beneath my feet is softening with their honor.

If you can, get to some woods right away so you can still catch the last of the encore. Early mornings and just before dusk are my favorite times, but anytime is better than no time.

Squint your eyes, smile, breathe, and say hey to the birches while you enjoy the show.