Swinger of Birches

“When I see birches bend to left and right across lines of straighter, darker trees, I like to think some boy’s been swinging them.”

I couldn’t resist documenting this sight on my commute into work today. I was transported back to 11th grade English and Robert Frost and all the layers and meanings and feelings that we’re unlocked for/in me that year.

“One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.”

Full poem: Birches by Robert Frost