The drive takes me through the woods, past firs with their feathery needles, always green, past proud oaks and birches with their queer white stems and bark peeling like strips of sunburned skin. They’ll be naked now, those oaks and birches, their branches in harsh relief against a gray sky, but within two months, the first leaves will unfurl, soft and damp and tender. The harsh smell of frost and pine will make way for the good, clean scents of green things growing.
