Spring is coming!

Spring is coming!

There is in my birch forest my favorite tree. The birch looks like fluffy. Dad said that this kind of birches. On the birch this we came by accident, walking in the late autumn through the forest. In the forest we were alone, but all the time we felt the presence of someone invisible. There was an impression that someone suddenly threw a pebble, or sighed heavily, or stumbled over a snag. Everything was explained simply: autumn was in the forest; she dumped leaves from the trees, and they, falling, clung to branches and trunks. This was the reason for the unusual sounds.

Leaving the forest till the spring, we said goodbye to our birch. I took out a pen and on a smooth white bark wrote: “Do not be sad without us, birch, we’ll come to you in the spring.” And we kept

our word…

Over the winter, the inscription, made with a pen on the bark, did not fade at all. But if in the autumn we were alone in the birch forest, now everything was talking about the presence of people: banks of birch syrups were attached to the trunks of some birches. In the trunks of the birches were made small incisions, there were inserted tubes, from them into the banks and dripped the juice. He was transparent. Birch sap is curative; birch buds are also used for medicinal purposes, and from the birch bark they get tar, or wood tar. But before us, back in ancient times, people wrote on the birch bark. This upper layer of bark, torn off the birch, is called birch bark. It was used in Russia as a material for writing. These ancient Russian letters were called birch bark letters.

… Yes, spring came into its own. And not only transparent birch sap, but also warm trunks of birch trees, their thin pink twigs spoke about this. I noticed an ant running through the bark of a tree. There, where the snow came down, a brush of juicy greens pierced the birches. And in the still cool air there were smells, which are only in the spring.

When we returned, I picked up bits of fallen bark under the birches and brought them home. I’ll try and write a birch bark letter.


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Spring is coming!